


The Vanguard

by CateAdams



Series: The Ren shat'var Trilogy [3]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Established Relationship, Exploring the unknown, M/M, Pon Farr, Ren shat'var, Scientific jargon, Space Battles, T'hy'la, Telepathic Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-14 22:04:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 67,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2204685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CateAdams/pseuds/CateAdams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A broken mind link with an enigmatic enemy is the only clue to a terrifying escalation that threatens the heart of the Federation. The Enterprise explores uncharted space seeking answers to the mystery of a shadowy military power and Jim and Spock fight to put the pieces together as Earth itself is threatened and their own relationship is subjected to its greatest test yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Broken Link, And A Mind Remade

(posted to ksarchive.com beginning 13 May 2014)

 

 

Chapter One: A Broken Link, And A Mind Remade

 

 

     The chamber was apparently lifeless; an almost cylindrical room that extended high above his head, the curved, silvery walls enclosing a simple, practically empty space. Empty, except for the elongated metallic sculpture, made of the same material as the walls, that stood proudly in the center of the chamber, surrounded at its base by a circle of reddish illumination inset to the floor. The sculpture was of a humanoid, featureless, amorphous, standing with head tilted upwards, as if to catch the sun.

     To his keen telepathic mind, the sculpture practically vibrated, calling to him in a terrifyingly fundamental way. He stepped forward, equal parts curious and determined, his hand reaching out to touch the smooth surface.

     He heard a voice in his head, warning him away. He ignored it. For so long his people had searched, had waited. Plans and plots, battles and challenges. All for this one moment of joining. For this moment of true communion. He had tasted such a connection briefly before, had yearned for it from the day he knew it could be possible. _T’hy’la:_  a bond that would allow for something greater than the sum of its parts. Each would be made into something grander; weaknesses would be strengthened, deficiencies overcome. He sensed it within his grasp. This unity would lead his people to a new world, to a new empire. All was set, and the only thing that remained was this final step.

     With a deliberate breath, he concentrated, silencing the voice now screaming for him to listen, to stop. Harnessing all he knew of the old disciplines, he reached with his mind as well as with his hand, projecting his intent, his very _katra_ seeking its mate. As his hand neared the now-undulating surface, he could feel the clamor of multitudes within, the excitement, the anticipation building. And he could sense one finally rise above the others, seeking him as well, eagerly reaching for his mind, for his soul.

     And as Siforit’s hand finally made contact with the metallic skin of the sculpture, he felt the roar of the connection, the primitive, harsh invasion of an alien intelligence, the hints of desperation, and hatred, and a deep thirst for power. Instead of peaceful fusion of two kindred souls, it was an attack, vicious and unrelenting, and Siforit was forced to expose all he was and all he knew. And as his being was overtaken, he searched his mind frantically for the fragile link that he knew was there, throwing his remaining self into it in a hopeless, final warning and plea before his body shook and fell, collapsing limply in front of the sculpture to lie suddenly still, his eyes open, their now-shadowy gray an eerie match for the cold walls that surrounded him, shrouded by silence.

_Many lightyears away..._

 

 

     The Class-M planet originally designated Lambda Arturus III, and now known as Kliperik, in deference to its dominant native language, was the first primary contact undertaken by the _Enterprise_ since its five-year exploratory mission was directed into the uncharted regions of space outbound of Beta quadrant. Six months had passed, full of planetary surveys and star mapping, no-contact determinations and cataloguing of scientific data, since the ship had passed beyond the reaches of Federation oversight. Six months, with an underlying goal of seeking out the home base of the _Ren shat’var_ , a shadowy group of military-minded Vulcan separatists, who had recently dramatically announced their presence with a definitive invasion and takeover of a particular sector of Klingon space. Six months of futility, in that respect, but now, in Captain Jim Kirk’s opinion, a primary contact initiative that would make up for any lack of progress elsewhere.

     The humanoid population of Kliperik was politically united, technologically advanced and peaceful. The planet offered a wealth of rare mineralogical deposits, and the culture boasted a deep knowledge and focus on the healing arts and philosophy. They had recently acquired warp capability, and were eagerly reaching for the stars. Three weeks had been spent on long-range reconnaissance, with the starship hidden behind one of the three Kliperiki moons, and it had been nearly a week since Admiral Fitzpatrick had authorized first contact.

     The mission could not have gone smoother. The populace of Kliperik had welcomed them with open arms and minds, literally, as telepathic communication was a significant part of their culture. First Officer Spock had led the initial contact and subsequent discussions, his Vulcan heritage giving him the advantage of psi-sensitivity. Once introductions has been established, the Kliperiki had jumped at the chance to join the Federation, and two days of eager negotiations had yielded a mutually beneficial treaty and the excuse for much celebrating all around.

     Now, Jim sat at one end of a long table in the large, colorful banquet hall in the central governmental seat, watching with amusement as his enthusiastic hosts attempted yet another Terran toast using the potent local wine. The universal translator had been painstakingly programmed by Lieutenant Uhura during the observational phase of their mission, but the output still lacked the colorful telepathic accompaniment to the soft, clicking tones of the Kliperiki language. For that, they were relying on Spock’s presence; and he was seated next to the planetary governor to Jim’s right.

     The banquet had been going on for over three hours, and Jim could feel that his bondmate was becoming overwhelmed by the constant demands of telepathic contact in such a large group. The Kliperiki, aware of the humans’ psi-null status, had pledged to avoid intrusive contact with their minds; instead focusing their efforts to communicate on the first officer. Spock had naturally strong psi abilities that had been enhanced by the empathic dimension provided by his mental bond with his human captain. However, beyond what was necessary for communication, Spock had largely been shielding his mind during his duties on the planet to protect his, and Jim’s, mental privacy. The consistently high level of selective shielding was taxing, and especially so after such a long and involved day, and the captain had felt a dull mental ache and overall exhaustion seeping through their bond as the banquet progressed. Now, as the ache grew steadily into a sharp, persistent pain, Jim stood and made their apologies. Ever polite, their hosts stood as well and bid them a formal good night; the ship would be departing the next morning, with the arrival of an official Federation diplomatic attachment and cultural and scientific liaison teams to follow within a few weeks.

     The contingent from the _Enterprise_ materialized back in the familiar transporter room, and Jim glanced around at his team as he stepped down from the pad. “Everyone remember where their quarters are?” He flashed a grin and raised three fingers towards his CMO, who was blinking rapidly under the bright lights. “How ‘bout you, Bones? How many fingers am I holding up?”

     “Shut up, Jim. I can hold my liquor just fine, thank you very much.”

     Uhura had already made her way down to the door, holding the satchel containing her datachips and the translator device. “Sorry, Len, but that wasn’t liquor, that was a religious experience; I’ve already got a headache.”

     Lieutenant Gold, the Starfleet liaison for Treaties and Cultural Affairs, was visibly wavering as she stood next to the doctor. Lieutenant Commander Toomey, in charge of security for the away team and therefore quite sober, smiled and offered Gold his arm. “Can I see you back to your quarters, Leonie?” At her grateful nod, he led her out of the transporter room, Nyota following behind.

     Bones managed a sharp look at Spock, who had moved down to stand next to Jim. “Do I need to send you down to M’Benga? How’s your head?”

     The captain knew that the doctor was not asking about the alcohol, and turned to regard his bondmate intently. Spock had dropped his extra shielding, but Jim still sensed some residual discomfort and a deep tiredness. Spock held McCoy’s gaze evenly. “I am functional, Doctor; however I am in need of meditation.”

     McCoy’s face had fallen into its usual scowl, but there was concern in his eyes. “Let me make that a medical order then. And I want you off-duty for at least twenty-four hours following the departure ceremony tomorrow. Acute telepathic stress is not something to fuck around with.”

     The Vulcan raised an eyebrow at the doctor’s words, but did not argue, and Jim nodded. “Don’t worry, Bones; I’ll make sure he takes it easy.”

     McCoy narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice to avoid being overheard by the transporter technician. “That means you go and rest, too, Jim. And keep the mental chatter between you two at a minimum; he doesn’t need any extra bullshit while he puts his brain back together. Tomorrow’s ceremony will be just as hard on him as tonight’s dinner; they’re expecting a big crowd for the send-off.”

     Jim raised his hands in mock surrender, murmuring, “I know, Bones. I’ll take care of him.” Despite the success of the mission, he was looking forward to putting this planet, and his bondmate’s excessive mental efforts, behind them.

     Satisfied, the doctor nodded and gestured towards the doors, raising his voice in an exaggerated drawl. “Y’all heading my way?”

     Jim exchanged a look with Spock and smiled. “I guess so. Lead on, Bones.” He followed his friend, hearing his first officer fall into step just behind him, and inclined his head towards the technician. “Good night, Mr. Fortman.”

     “Good night, sir. Glad to have you back aboard.”

 

 

 

     The three officers made their way to Deck Five in companionable silence, and Bones grunted and offered a tired wave as he entered his cabin. Jim and Spock continued down the corridor until they came to the first officer’s quarters. For security reasons, knowledge of their bond was kept under-wraps, with only a few onboard aware of their relationship.

     “Good night, Captain,” Spock said smoothly.

     Jim smiled. “Good night, Mr. Spock. Nice work today.”

     “Sir.” Spock held his gaze for a brief moment, and disappeared into his quarters.

     Jim hesitated, and then turned to his own nearby door. Their quarters connected through a shared bathroom, where they could come and go from each other’s space away from the eyes of the crew. Almost a year had passed since Jim and Spock had bonded in the face of capture and torture, Spock’s mental discipline the only thing standing between them and the horrible consequences of the mind-sifter. Their rare mental compatibility and strong mutual affection had resulted in a _t’hy’la_ bond and a soul-deep connection. Despite early trials and challenges, Jim was happier and more fulfilled than he had ever been, accepted and cherished in a way he had never expected. Their relationship was supposed to have been ‘defining’, according to a voice from another universe, and Jim thought that word particularly appropriate.

     As the door slid shut and locked behind him, he heard the soft hiss of the bathroom door opening, and his bondmate stepped through into the captain’s cabin. Jim took an involuntary step towards him and sighed as he felt his mate’s thoughts reach for his along the bond, bathing his mind in familiar warmth.

     “Although I require meditation, I find myself in need of your immediate presence, _ashayam_.”

     Jim grinned widely. “I can’t say I’m upset about that. Are you sure you’re okay?”

     Gentle reassurance cascaded across the link, mirrored in the Vulcan’s expressive brown eyes. “Your mind is stabilizing to me, _t’hy’la_.”

     Jim barely stopped himself from reaching out either physically or mentally, hearing the subtext in his mate’s words, and still sensing the lingering ache from earlier. “I guess I’ll have to be satisfied with just looking though, huh?” At Spock’s minute nod, Jim exhaled resignedly. “Well, meditate away then.” He smirked. “The things I give up for the good of the Fleet.”

    Spock raised an eyebrow, walking smoothly past his bondmate towards the sleeping area and settling himself comfortably onto the floor across from the bed, cross-legged. “I shall be sure to include your difficulties in my official report.”

     Jim laughed out loud, feeling a rush of affection and amusement along their connection. “Smart-ass. I’m rubbing off on you. Wait until I tell Bones.” Spock merely closed his eyes, his hands resting on his knees, the smallest of smiles quirking his lips. Jim, a grin lighting up his face, watched him until he felt the lulled calm characteristic of his mate’s meditation swell across the bond.

     With a soft chuckle, the captain turned and headed into the bathroom, intent on a shower. As he stripped and switched on the sonics, he chewed the inside of his cheek, absently monitoring the muted sensations moving across their connection. A growing background anxiety had manifested itself over the past few weeks, leaving Jim feeling unusually jumpy and tense. And he could tell that Spock was affected also, albeit in ways unnoticeable to anyone who did not share an intimate mental link with him. The half-Vulcan was exhibiting a strange dichotomy of mental withdrawal and need. He was meditating more, which had previously been a clue that he was under stress. But he had also taken to maintaining a light, surficial meld while sleeping with his human. Jim was convinced that it was a result of Spock’s involved, psi-focused role in the first contact mission, but it left him uneasy. And as the captain stood under the soothing cleansing waves, he resolved to talk to his bondmate about it as soon as the mission concluded the next day.

 

 

 

     Some time later, having fallen asleep watching Spock meditate, Jim awoke abruptly to the semi-darkness of his cabin, covered in sweat and disoriented. He instinctively reached out mentally for his mate, and cried out as he sensed a sharp shifting pain, and a matching feeling of treacherous vertigo, both suddenly disappearing under the Vulcan’s relentless shields. His head throbbed at the abrupt shuttering of the bond and he sat up, his voice barely a rasp. “Spock?”

     Spock was still seated in his meditative position, but his eyes were wide and unfocused and his mouth half-open. His skin was deathly pale in the low light, and his hands curled into fists. Jim crawled hastily off the bed and to his mate’s side, reaching out tentatively to touch his wrist. “Spock? Can you hear me? Do you need me to call Medical?”

     Several seconds passed without a response, the Vulcan’s shields so tight that Jim couldn’t feel anything even through their skin-to-skin contact. Suddenly, the tension seemed to drain out of Spock’s body and he slumped back against the wall, blinking rapidly, his mental shields dropping. Jim kept his hold on Spock’s wrist, moving to encircle his shoulders with his other arm and pull his first officer’s mostly limp form against his body. He could sense no pain now, just the normal shifting colors of his bondmate’s mind. “Spock? Answer me. C’mon, babe.”

     The Vulcan leaned into him, his voice shaky. “Jim. I am alright. The pain was momentary.”

     “Yeah, but it was pretty bad. What happened? Is this from tonight? From the banquet?”

     There was a pause, and Spock slowly eased himself away from the captain’s arm, straightening his back. His eyes were still wide, but focused, now. Jim reluctantly let go and shifted back to study his silent friend, feeling irritation war with overwhelming concern. “Spock? Am I going to have to take a guess or something? What the fuck was that?”

     The Vulcan swallowed. “I believe that what I experienced was the severing of a mental link. However, I have never sensed anything like it before, even when Vulcan fell. Even when you... .” His voice trailed off.

     Jim stiffened. “What link? Sarek?” He knew that Spock shared a weak familial bond with his father.

     “No, Jim.”

     The captain gestured with his hands, his irritation growing at his bondmate’s reticence. “Well, who then?”

     Spock’s dark eyes met his, and there was a breath of apology and confusion gliding across their connection. “There is only one possibility.”

_“Who?”_

     “Siforit.”

 

 


	2. On The Edge

Chapter Two: On The Edge

 

 

     About a half-hour later, Jim sat in his desk chair, arms and legs crossed, nervous energy dancing across his body. Spock was sitting in a chair on the other side of the desk, back painfully straight, hands folded loosely on his lap. Dr. M’Benga was sitting in another chair next to the Vulcan, looking characteristically aloof, and McCoy was pacing by the bulkhead, his hair in sleep-tousled disarray, his face set in a frown. “Okay, so let’s go through this again for all of us who weren’t either trained on Vulcan or bonded to one. What happened?”

     Spock appeared almost annoyed, a fact that would have amused Jim if the circumstances were different. “I experienced the severing of a residual mental link with Siforit; a link apparently resulting from our shared meld during the mine attack in the Gamma Carinae system. My reaction was not predictable, and I can only conclude that the link was not severed due to natural death. In addition to the unexpected pain, I experienced a flash multitude of conflicting sensations and mental images; most of which will require extended meditation for me to process.”

     McCoy nodded absently, continuing to pace. “Siforit. The pain in the ass who we sent back over to the _Ren shat’var_ in exchange for their help against Admiral Hamilton. The one who kept your _katra_ or whatever anchored when you saved Jim’s life.” He stopped and faced Spock angrily. “That’s all fine and good, but I still don’t understand why you had a bond with this guy in the first place? And more importantly, why the fuck didn’t any of us know about it?”

     Spock’s jaw tightened, and M’Benga cut in placidly, “Doctor, this was not a bond, as the captain and Mr. Spock share, but a residual link, as is commonly left as a consequence of a deep healing meld.” He paused. “The existence of such is not the issue here. The confusion arises from the extreme consequences of its abrupt dissolution. Normally, such a link would be barely perceptible above the natural background connection common to all Vulcans, and the severing would be barely noticeable.”

     “So you knew about this, too?” McCoy turned on his colleague. “The first officer, who just so happens to have an intimate pipeline to the captain’s brain, has a mental link with an enemy leader, and neither of you thought to disclose it?”

     M’Benga refused to be intimidated. “I maintain that this type of linkage does not allow for communication of any kind; only a bare awareness of its existence.”

     “And I thought you weren’t a mind healer,” Bones shot back sarcastically, his eyes narrowed. He glanced at Spock. “Apparently it can allow for some kind of communication or we wouldn’t all be here having this discussion.” Spock refused to meet his eyes, and McCoy threw his hands into the air, looking at the captain. “Dammit, Jim, how many fucking times do I have to say ‘I told you so’?”

     Jim shifted in his seat. “Stow it, Bones.” He looked directly at his first officer. “Spock, I want a straight answer: is there anything else you need to tell me?” The captain continued silently through their bond, _Did he do anything to you? Or to me? Is this a threat to the ship?_

     The Vulcan straightened. “No, Captain.” _There was only the minute connection, as Doctor M’Benga described, and now, nothing. He may be dead, or worse._

     Jim grunted. “What’s worse then dead?” He thought back to the insidious plot to appropriate the _katra_ of the elders of New Vulcan and frowned.

     Spock did not answer immediately, but Jim felt the rise and swell of a slew of powerful emotions before they were crushed under Vulcan controls. The captain winced, he had not felt Spock’s sharp emotional repression in months, and it was aggravating his already pounding head.

     After a pause, the Vulcan spoke again, his voice quiet and his eyes focused on his bondmate, “Anything further might be gleaned from the images I received. However, I will require time to understand them.”

     There was a loaded silence, finally broken by McCoy’s gruff drawl. “Great. So, what are we going to do about this goddamn farewell ceremony planetside in a few hours?”

Spock’s gaze was still on Jim. “The link has been severed, sir. There should be no other incidents such as I experienced.”

     Jim shook his head. “We’ve got to finish this mission out, Bones. I don’t think we have a choice.”

     The CMO glanced at M’Benga, who remained silent. Finally McCoy shrugged and glared at the first officer. “Fine. But, my order for you to go off-duty after the ceremony still stands. And I want you in sickbay for a full workup after that.”

     “Yes, Doctor.” Spock was carefully controlling his emotions, his face back to its usual impassivity.

     Jim furrowed his brow, rubbing a hand over his chin. “I’ve got to inform Command about this, but I wish we had something more to tell them.” His eyes shifted to Spock. “Are you absolutely sure the link is gone?”

     “I am certain. It is severed, Captain.”

     Jim’s shoulders relaxed somewhat, and he studied his bondmate’s face, sensing the stress and fatigue, his voice softening. “What do you think happened to him?” Despite Siforit’s status as a leader of the _Ren shat’var_ , he had been responsible for saving Spock’s life, and, by extension, Jim’s. And Jim felt a strange kinship towards him that he couldn’t entirely explain. If nothing else, he wanted to know what had befallen the enigmatic being.

     “I do not know, sir.”

     When the silence in the room became almost deafening, the captain exhaled sharply and stood up. “Okay, gentlemen, let’s get some rest and finish up tomorrow and then we’ll examine this again. I hope this doesn’t mean we’re going to get blindsided by another _Ren shat’var_ fucking surprise.”

     “Me, too, Jim. I’d like my sickbay to remain nice and shiny. And empty.”

     The captain met his eyes solemnly. “I hear that, Bones.” He nodded to the two doctors and they exchanged a glance, M’Benga standing smoothly and inclining his head before turning and following McCoy.

     Once the door slid shut behind them, the captain turned to his bondmate. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Jim couldn’t help the accusatory tone of his voice.

    “When I became aware of the link, I understood that it was perhaps to be expected, given the nature of the meld we shared. As I said, it was barely perceptible, and could not have been used by either side for subterfuge. As to the consequence of its termination, there is no precedent for what happened, Jim.”

     Jim leaned his hip against his desk, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. “No precedent.” He swallowed and crossed his arms. “I think Bones is right that we might be up shit creek when I explain this to Command.” He tilted his head, looking at Spock out of the corner of his eye. “I want a full report once you’ve processed whatever got sent along over that link as it broke.”

     “Yes, sir.”

     Jim could feel the wash of uncertainty and uneasiness. Both were suddenly viciously repressed, and the captain flinched.  _Why are you suddenly doing that again? Are you sure you’re alright?_

“Yes, Jim.”

     Jim stood for a moment, watching his first officer. Spock was still sitting very straight, but his face was too pale, and his expression completely blank. He was mentally pulling back, defensively. And he was shivering, just slightly. The captain’s eyes narrowed. “Are you cold?”

     When no answer was forthcoming, Jim huffed and walked forward, stopping just in front of his bondmate and softening his voice. “C’mon, it’s late and we’ve got that thing tomorrow; you’ve got to rest. Do you want to stay?”

     At his mate’s subdued mental affirmative, Jim raised the ambient temperature a few degrees and led the way around the partition into the bedroom. He pulled off his shirt and lay on the bed, ordering the lights down. After a moment, he felt Spock join him, sensing the Vulcan hesitate before moving over to press their bodies together, and reaching to touch Jim’s meld points. The bond expanded under the delicate mind-touch but it was guarded, with an underlying blur of unidentified emotions churning beneath strict Vulcan repression. The shivering had stopped, but Jim could sense a background mental tension that usually implied imposition of Spock’s physiological controls. Concealed in darkness, Jim frowned, a bad feeling slinking down his spine.

 

 

 

     Twenty hours later Jim was seated at his desk in his quarters. Spock was deep in meditation next door, a sense of calm now infusing the bond. Jim remained restless, rolling a stylus back and forth across the desk, a status report waiting, unread, on his screen. The gentle beep of the intercom suddenly sounded, cutting through the ambient thrum of the engines and the hiss of the air re-circulators.

     “Bridge to Captain.”

     Jim reached out and flipped a switch. “Kirk here, go ahead.”

     “Ensign Estes, sir. Message received from Command.”

     “Pipe it down here, Ensign.”

     “Yes, sir, switching.”

     With the conclusion of the ceremony and the smooth departure of the _Enterprise_ from the Lambda Arturus system, Jim had sent Admiral Fitzpatrick a brief message reporting on the success of the mission and the incident involving the mental link. He had asked M’Benga to send an attachment, verifying that the link would not have been a security risk, but was wary of Fitzpatrick’s response. The Head of Starfleet Operations was one of the command team’s strongest defenders, but even personal esteem had to take a backseat to Federation safety.

     Jim took a breath before keying in the channel, and the admiral’s face appeared on his screen. “Captain Kirk, Fitzpatrick here. First of all, good work on the establishment of first contact with the Kliperiki. Arrangements for transport of a diplomatic and scientific attachment have been made and dispatched teams will proceed immediately under gunship escort.” The admiral’s brows came together and he paused. “As to your other news, I have to say that you seem to have the jump on our best intelligence feeds. Something’s happening across the neutral zone. We’ve been keeping an eye on the _Ren shat’var_ since their selective invasion six months ago, and it appears that they are massing their fleet again. Over the past few hours, at least ten ships, of modified Klingon design, are participating in coordinated maneuvers in plain sight of our patrol vessels. No sign as yet of transgressing into our space, but they seem to be sending a message. Based on your report, it’s possible that there’s been some sort of coup, or a change in command, and they’ve got conquest back on their minds again. In any case, your orders are to make the discovery of the _Ren shat’var_ home base of absolute top priority. We’re flying blind here, Jim, and we need answers before we end up in the same situation as the Klingons. Good luck, and keep me informed. Fitzpatrick out.”

     Jim reached out to flip the channel closed, and leaned back, rubbing his hand over his mouth. Siforit had alluded before to the presence of factions within the _Ren shat’var_ ; a notable example being the group responsible for the terrorist actions on New Vulcan. The sudden rise of a similarly-minded leadership might well mean imminent hostility.

     Standing, Jim began to pace, flexing his hands absently. There was always something missing from their understanding of the motivations and actions of the Vulcan separatist group. Too much remained unclear, even now: their reasoning for focusing on particular areas of space, their acquisition of beyond-cutting-edge technology, the cryptic undertones to Siforit’s words and actions, the continuing inability to trace down their home base. The renegade leader’s interest in the _t’hy’la_ bond shared between the command team had unsettled Jim from the very beginning. And now, with the mysterious broken link and the blatant military mobilization appearing to be causally linked, Jim’s personal capacity for obfuscation was reaching its limit.

     Suddenly frustrated, Jim abruptly walked over to the desk and punched the comm unit. “Kirk to bridge.”

     “Bridge. Estes here, sir.”

     “Estes, arrange for all department heads to meet in the main briefing room at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow to discuss new mission parameters.” As Jim spoke, he felt a surge of awareness along the bond.

     “Aye, sir.”

     “Kirk out.” Jim flipped the channel closed and straightened as the bathroom door slid open and Spock stepped through, wearing his uniform blacks. The Vulcan’s mind had returned to its normal muted colors, the swirls of emotion and the deep tension gone. Jim took a step towards his bondmate, his voice softening. “You seem better. Find out anything?”

     Spock’s eyebrow rose as he clasped his hands behind his back. “Indeed, Captain. I was able to successfully process the images and information sent as the link with Siforit terminated.” He hesitated, tilting his head slightly. “It was most illuminating.”

     Jim exhaled sharply, not bothering to hide his irritation. “Spock, the next time Bones accuses you of acting like a human, I’m going to jump right in with a description of your mastery of dramatic pauses.”

     The Vulcan raised his chin. “Captain, Siforit is not dead; however, it is almost as if he were. His mind and body have been overtaken by a malevolent force, which acted to sever all external linkages within his mind. He was able to transmit a warning to me that it was happening, as well as particularly useful information that will aid us in determining the location of the _Ren shat’var_ base.”

     Jim frowned. “A malevolent force? Why would he want us to know about the base? They’ve done their best to keep us in the dark so far; why now?”

     Spock’s eyes were intense on Jim’s. “I believe that Siforit attempted a mind meld with something or someone he encountered within the recently captured sector and the devastating outcome of that meld was unexpected. His final impressions were of a deep and insatiable hunger for power and a profound sense of danger. It was implied that there is a connection between the being that now controls his mind and a base that exists outside of Federation territory.”

     The captain stared at the Vulcan. “You think they invaded that sector looking for something specific?”

     “Evidently, sir. And it appears as though they found it. Siforit conveyed a plea for help. He feared for the safety of his people, and, indeed, for ours as well.”

     “Fuck.” Jim crossed his arms and glanced away. “So it’s something new we’re dealing with; not just an internal power struggle.”

     “Sir?”

     “Fitzpatrick sent a message saying that the _Ren shat’var_ appear to be mobilizing their ships along the neutral zone.” The captain met Spock’s eyes. “And you said you know where to find their home base?”

     “I believe so, sir. I will need to utilize the long range sensors.”

     Jim nodded. “Do it. I’ll get McCoy to put you back on active status.”

     “Yes, sir.”

     As Spock made a motion to leave, Jim held out his hand, offering the _ozh’esta._ _Are you alright? I was worried about you._

     The Vulcan reached back, and the touch of their fingers sent the familiar electric warmth along Jim’s arm.  _I am alright, ashayam._

     Jim searched his bondmate’s face and mentally probed their connection; all seemed back to normal. The captain shook his head. “I guess Bones wasn’t full of shit when he was going on about telepathic stress.”

     “He was not. And I concede that the effects of the abnormal dissolution of the link did not aid matters.” _But your concern extends beyond my physical symptoms._

     Jim let his fingers run up and down Spock’s hand, thinking of the last time an external force had affected his bondmate’s mind. He shied away from the memory of his first officer lying on a cold floor, not breathing, the bond slipping away, surrounded by the bodies of people killed as Spock had mentally fought back against an alien machine. They had not talked about that incident much over the past six months, but Jim couldn’t help recalling the dark outcome of selectively stimulating his mate’s powerful psi-abilities. What if whatever force they were facing was able to have that effect? Or something completely different, lying latent within Spock’s mind, or Siforit’s. Jim knew that the _Ren shat’var_ leader himself possessed strong psi talents. If he couldn’t stand against whatever dark force had overtaken him... .

     Abruptly, a well of agitated possessiveness rising within him, Jim moved his hand to grasp the fabric of Spock’s black t-shirt, pulling the Vulcan towards him, his other hand reaching to grab at short, silky hair, tugging to angle Spock’s head as he molded their mouths together. The kiss was desperate, insistent, undeniable. Jim poured all his present frustration and worry, his strange lingering anxiety and tension into the clash of lips and tongues. It was just this side of painful, and after an instant of hesitation, Spock began to reciprocate, his hands moving to gently cradle Jim’s face in a noticeable contrast to the human’s driving intensity.

     Jim pressed forward, pushing his bondmate hard against the nearby bulkhead, and grinding their hips together. He nipped sharply at Spock’s lower lip and tasted the coppery tang of blood, and suddenly the bond roared wide and Jim was lifted bodily, the room swirling as he was carried across the room and laid onto the bed, sensing matching lust and frenetic energy immediately pulsing through their connection. Jim could feel his own arousal throb through him as his pants were practically torn from his body and he was flipped over to lie facedown, with suddenly slick fingers delving tenderly, but fervently into his entrance.

     Their physical intimacy had always been intense and passionate, but there was a new, dangerous edge to this that was different, and Jim’s daredevil nature thrilled to it, to sensing his bondmate’s alien strength and diminishing control. He could feel Spock’s mouth on the back of his neck as he was inelegantly prepared. He could sense the hunger and desire ripping through the bond and he mentally urged his mate on, reaching out to roughly entwine their fingers where Spock’s other hand was braced beside him on the bed, squeezing to the point of pain.

     The Vulcan entered him in one smooth thrust, and Jim pushed back into the sudden heat and stinging pressure, muttering excitedly as his partner’s hard body moved against and inside of him, “C’mon baby, give it to me. Fuck me; you feel so fucking good.” Spock murmured unintelligibly against Jim’s skin, and the human felt surrounded by heat, his senses flying high, buoyed by a sudden, insatiable need for a raw physical connection. Jim could sense his mate’s orgasm building through their link, and at the last moment he felt firm fingers on his meld points, falling helplessly into a deep well of feverish shared pleasure, crying out into the bedding as his own release was triggered by his mate’s, dimly hearing Spock’s gasps as his hips stuttered.

     The meld had been light, and was gone too soon, the Vulcan’s fingers falling away as he separated them and collapsed to lie next to Jim’s sprawled body. The captain blinked, briefly disoriented by the loss of the meld, aware that Spock had unusually held back in their joining. And then, in the dizzying wake of their pleasure, he could feel it, the swirl of his mate’s confusion and a touch of fear. He focused on Spock’s eyes, wide and dark and suddenly wrenchingly vulnerable.

     Wordlessly, he twisted around and enveloped his bondmate in his arms, projecting reassurance over their link.  _It’s alright, t’hy’la. It’s okay._

     Spock’s body was tense.  _I beg your forgiveness, ashayam._

     Jim gave a wry smile and pulled back a bit. “For what? That was fucking amazing.”

     There was a pause, and the fear faded from Spock’s eyes, but the bewildered look was still there.  _I do not understand what you wished of me._

     Jim shook his head minutely, lacking the words to explain. “I think I just needed to lose myself, if that makes any sense. I needed...this.”

     Spock pulled Jim against him, his hands coming up to stroke Jim’s back. The intense sensations through the bond had eased, but the captain could feel the shadow of his mate’s remaining uneasiness at his human’s uncharacteristic behavior and at his own aggressive response. Jim took a deep breath, brushing his lips soothingly across Spock’s black hair, sensing a transient peace in his own mind, the tension from before dissipated. They lay in silence for a while and finally Spock’s hold loosened.  _I must go, Jim, the calculations... ._

     The captain sighed, releasing his mate and watching him gracefully stand, adjusting his clothes back into a semblance of order; their coupling had happened so quickly, Spock hadn’t even fully removed his pants.

     “Hey,” he said, sitting up slowly and reaching for what was left of his own uniform, “I know I keep asking this, but are you alright?”

     His bondmate gave him a tiny smile. “I am alright, _t’hy’la_.”

     Jim smiled back as Spock turned and left through the bathroom door, but the expression lingered only a moment before he sobered, listening to the muffled sound of the sonics. He felt guilty over his own forcefulness, knowing that Spock’s underlying uncertainties centered on losing control, an action that Jim had just actively incited. He fingered ripped fabric in his hands, wondering why he had needed to push his bondmate in that way. The soft sound of the bathroom door opening and shutting on Spock’s side broke his reverie and he stood up gingerly.

     Sighing, he continued to mentally chastise himself as he showered and then dressed, returning to sit at his desk. Forcing his mind back onto the job, he cleared his throat and flipped a switch at his computer, preparing to record a message to Admiral Fitzpatrick.

 

 


	3. Searching For Answers

Chapter Three: Searching For Answers

 

 

     The following ship’s morning found Jim sitting stiffly in a chair at the head of the long conference table in the main briefing room, McCoy seated across from him, an expression of definitive disapproval on the doctor’s face. Bones had been less than happy about Jim’s late-night message requesting the first officer’s immediate return to active duty status, and his acquiescence had been, at the least, reluctant. Now, as the two men waited for the other officers to arrive, Bones tapped his stylus, fixing his eyes on the captain, who raised his chin defiantly.

     “It was the right decision, Bones. There’s an imminent threat to the Federation, and we need answers.” He waved his hand. “And Spock said he was okay.”

     “Bullshit, Jim. There’s always a threat to the Federation.” McCoy leaned forward. “And that stubborn hobgoblin would crawl his way to the bridge with his leg barely hanging by a thread if he thought it was his duty.” The doctor’s hazel gaze bored into Jim’s. “You seem off, kid. Anxious, tense. You’re pushing.” He shifted his eyes pointedly to where Jim’s hand lay on the table, curled into a fist.

     The captain’s jaw tightened and he deliberately relaxed his hand, thinking defensively of his behavior the night before. “Is that your medical determination, Doctor?”

     McCoy exhaled loudly and slapped his hand on the table. “This is what I mean! Your people aren’t machines, even the green-blooded ones. It’s my job to remind you of that.”

     Jim glared at him, and then straightened in his chair, adjusting his expression as the briefing room door slid open and his officers started to file in. He nodded a greeting to each of them, waiting until everyone had settled into their seats. Spock arrived last, carrying two PADDs and trailed by Ensign Morrow from Astrometrics.

     As the Vulcan took the seat next to Jim, the nervous young ensign pulling up an extra chair to sit just behind and to the left of the first officer, the captain stood, glancing around the room. “Good morning. Before we get into the reason for this briefing, I want to personally congratulate everyone on a job well done on Lambda Arturus III. As first contacts go, I think this went incredibly smoothly and you all did excellent work.”

     He paused, glancing down at the table before raising his eyes, his tone of voice more serious. “I’ve received word from Admiral Fitzpatrick that the _Ren shat’var_ are apparently mobilizing across the neutral zone. So far, there have been no incursions of our space, or any broadcast threats, but Command sees reasons to be wary of potential military action in the near future.

     “As you know, aside from our exploratory mission, we were tasked with investigating the origination of the _Ren shat’var_ , based on the hypothesis that their home base is located somewhere in unexplored space adjacent to Beta quadrant. Recent...classified communication has come to light suggesting the location of the base and we have been ordered to make this our new priority.”

     Jim caught a confused glance from Nyota at his mention of ‘communication’, but did not elaborate. “So, to that end, I’m going to turn this meeting over to the XO.” He looked to his left. “Mr. Spock?”

     “Captain.” Spock stood smoothly as Jim reclaimed his own seat, and pressed several controls on the projector console. A three-dimensional holo of a starfield appeared over the conference table and the lights dimmed.

     “Based on information obtained from the communication referenced by the captain it appears, after departing Vulcan over two-hundred years ago, the _Ren shat’var_ traveled to a nearby sector of space, designated Seven-Nine-Gamma, specifically to a binary system, Phi Tertia AB. This system is unexplored by the Federation, and contains three planets, one of which, according to the long range sensors, is potentially Class-M.” As he spoke, the system was highlighted in the holo, and the image zoomed in to display the binary. “The potential planet of interest, designated Phi Tertia A III, is in an S-type orbit around the subgiant primary star. Assuming a sustained speed of warp factor four, we can reach this planet in twenty-seven point six hours from our present location. Ensign Morrow will forward astrometric data to your PADDs now.”

     With a glance around the table, Spock sat down, and the lights brightened slightly, keeping the now-dimmed image displayed above the table. Sulu raised a hand. “Commander, will we be expecting any sort of hostile action once we get there?”

     “That is unclear, Lieutenant. The distances involved imply that while the planet may have been used as a home base for a number of years before the _Ren shat’var_ launched their offensive within Beta and the formerly-held Klingon territory, it is unlikely that a significant force remains.”

     At Sulu’s nod, Spock continued, “That being said, the purpose of our exploration is to fortify our knowledge of _Ren shat’var_ intentions and abilities. Their acquisition of technology is unprecedented, and their recent tactics imply that their forces are not limited to what they have been able to seize by force. It will be my recommendation that we proceed under full defensive posture. The possibility of encountering another advanced civilization does exist.”

     Jim cut in, “And I’m going to go with that recommendation. The bottom line is that we don’t know what to expect. I can emphasize that Command has a distinct lack of information regarding these guys, and we need to get some answers.” He looked around the table. “Anything else to add?”

     Lieutenant Commander Abioye from Xenoanthropology raised a tentative hand. “Sir, this may not mean anything, but if we feed in the locations of the last three no-contact systems we encountered, you can see that they lie at approximately equal distances radially from the destination binary.” He punched in a command on his PADD, and three systems glowed on the holo.

     Jim peered at the image. “Go ahead, Commander.”

     Abioye cleared his throat. “Well, sir, those systems were no-contact because of the state of advancement of the civilizations involved. However, all three had one thing in common, besides being at varying pre-warp stages.”

     Jim saw Spock raise an eyebrow next to him and he leaned forward. “They all had experienced a catastrophic meteor collision in the past ten thousand years.”

     “Yes, Captain.” Abioye seemed more confident and he sat straighter in his chair. “On each world, we found evidence for a pre-impact culture that was more advanced than the current one. We hypothesized that a nearby supernova may have spawned a rogue asteroid field, accounting for the timing of the collisions, however... .”

     “However, maybe it was a weapon or something artificial? Is that what you’re suggesting? Originating from that binary system?”

     Abioye swallowed, conscious of the skeptical looks being exchanged. “I wouldn’t speculate that far, Captain, but it is a strange coincidence.”

     There was a silence around the table, and Jim nodded sharply. “Okay, Commander, I want you to take a closer look at your data from those systems. Check out the hypothesis that those impacts could be anything other than natural events. Pull in Geology and Astronomy for assistance, if you need it.”

     “Yes, sir.”

     “Captain,” Uhura spoke up. “Can you tell us anything more about the communication you referred to earlier?”

     Jim hesitated. “Not at this time, Lieutenant.” She nodded and glanced away, her lips pursed. Jim stood, signaling the end of the meeting. “Okay, that’s all for now. Mr. Sulu, please set course for the Phi Tertia system, warp factor four.”

     “Aye, sir.”

     With a shuffle of chairs and a low murmur of voices, the officers filed out slowly. Spock and Bones had stood, but did not leave, eyeing each other across the table. Jim waited until the doors had slid shut and the three of them were alone to address his bondmate, “You got all that across the link?”

     Spock’s eyes shifted to the captain, and he clasped his hands behind his back. “I received general impressions and logically deduced the rest, Captain.”

     “I don’t doubt it,” McCoy snorted. “How’s your head?”

     “I am functional, Doctor.”

     “I’ve heard that one before,” McCoy replied dryly.

     “Bones.” Jim shook his head warningly at the doctor. He met Spock’s eyes. “Spock, what do you make of Abioye’s suggestion?”

     “If you recall, Captain, the hypothesis of a rogue asteroid field was tentative. Beyond that, I would require more data.”

     “Okay.” Jim paused, and then gestured towards McCoy. “I want you to go to sickbay and have Bones check you out now that we have a heading.”

     Spock blinked, and a swell of irritation pulsed through the bond before being repressed. “Yes, sir.”

     Jim frowned.  _You were scheduled to go anyway. Just a precaution, t’hy’la._

     Spock’s features tightened but he did not reply and the captain could feel iron emotional controls again being exerted over their connection. Jim’s frown deepened, and he glanced at the doctor.

     Bones looked positively giddy. “C’mon Spock. The sooner you get this over with, the sooner you can get back to playing with your sensors.” He flipped a mock salute to Jim and walked to the door, waiting until the Vulcan had passed by to follow him into the hallway.

 

 

 

     The end of alpha shift came and Jim stood to exit the bridge, passing the conn to the beta shift command officer. Spock had reappeared at his station a mere hour after Bones had escorted him to sickbay, and, after a couple additional hours of work, had departed for the forward sensor lab to fully process the data coming in from the sweeps of the approaching system. Jim continued to sense the strange retreat in his bondmate’s mind. Not shielding, but restrictive control, punctuated by the sharp, repeated repressions of emotion. As soon as Jim was done with his shift, he was on his way down to see McCoy.

     The doctor was in his office, a half-eaten sandwich next to him and a coffee cup in his hand, poking at his computer screen. He looked up as Jim unceremoniously strode in and palmed the door shut. “Hi, Jim, something I can do for you?”

     The captain stood in front of the desk, arms crossed in front of him. “What’s wrong with Spock?”

     Bones gave him a strange look and put his cup down. “What in blazes are you talking about?”

     Jim exhaled sharply. “Answer the question.”

     The doctor studied his friend for a moment and gestured towards a chair. “Why don’t you sit down. You eat anything yet?”

     Jim waved his hand dismissively. “I’m not hungry.” But at the doctor’s pointed gaze, the captain made a face and lowered himself into a seat.

     McCoy looked him over. “Jim, the hobgoblin checked out fine. Nothing amiss that my scans could pick out, despite all the shit that’s been going on lately.” His gaze turned directed. “Any particular reason you’re asking?”

     The captain looked away. “I don’t know. Something’s different; it’s hard to explain.”

     Bones took a casual sip of his coffee. “Try me.”

     Jim sighed, standing up abruptly to pace back and forth in front of the doctor’s desk. “You remember those sharp repressions of emotion that he used to do? Well, those are back. And it’s like he’s got this weird combination of pulling back sometimes and other times wanting closeness. It started a few weeks ago, and got worse after that fucking link broke.” Jim paused to study one of the plants McCoy kept against the far wall. “And you were right earlier; I’m tense all the time, frustrated. Like I’ve had too much caffeine or something.”

     McCoy waited until Jim had stopped speaking and then stood up, taking a few steps around the desk towards his friend. “Jim, has it occurred to you that the problem might not be with him?”

     The captain’s brows came together and the doctor continued, “You’ve had a pretty fucking rough year and not much down time. None at all, actually, if you don’t count those handful of days on Poseidon’s World or the forty-eight hours on Starbase Twenty three months ago. You’re dealing with an intense new personal relationship, you’re out here in the middle of nowhere chasing ghosts and trying to prevent a possible war, and you’re dealing with all the stress and bullshit that comes normally with your job. The first contact mission was a big deal; you’re only human, Jim, and he’s plugged into your brain, so I’m sure it’s affecting him, too.”

     Jim crossed his arms defensively, and McCoy peered at him. “Plus, you think I don’t know that he tends to prop you up when you should be laid out from exhaustion? Something’s gotta give, Jim, and I think what you’re talking about is the stress starting to show. In both of you.” The doctor took another step forward and reached out to grip the captain’s arm, his drawl gentling. “Y’know, kid, you and Spock tend to instinctively step back when you’re hurting. Maybe you should try coming together instead. Hell, it’s worked in the past.”

     Jim frowned, pulling out of his friend’s light grasp. “I tried that last night, Bones. It didn’t go so well.”

     “What do you mean?”

     Jim laughed, but it was without humor. “Well, I think I was going for a good hard fuck to take my mind off of the bullshit that we’re probably about to get ourselves into, but I don’t think Vulcans do that sort of thing; he was confused, and retreated even more.”

     “Jesus, Jim.” McCoy rubbed his hands over his face. “What, the soul-swapping regular sex wasn’t enough for you?” He blinked, shaking his head and muttering, “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation.”

     “Sorry.”

     “Look, go talk to him, meld, whatever. But try giving yourself a break here and there. He’s not going to get better until you do.”

     “Sure, Bones.” Jim offered a tentative half-smile. “Thanks.”

     “Don’t mention it.” McCoy snorted, “Literally. Please.”

     The captain chuckled, reaching out to slap his friend on the shoulder before heading back out into Sickbay.

 

 

 

     With the ship traveling through uncharted space, and the sensors being utilized at maximum capacity, it was well into ship’s night by the time Jim sensed his bondmate’s return to his quarters. Unfolding himself from his own desk chair, he padded barefoot across the room and through the shared bathroom, letting himself into Spock’s cabin.

     The Vulcan was waiting for him, standing with his usual perfect posture in the middle of the room. Without speaking, Jim walked over to stand directly in front of his mate, reaching out with his hand in the _ozh’esta_ , and with his mind across their bond. Without hesitation, the Vulcan reached back, likewise, and Jim sighed at the deepened connection, at the warm sensations along their joined hands.  _I am so sorry to have pushed like that yesterday. I’m worried about you, and I can’t shake this anxious feeling. Will you meld with me?_

     He felt Spock’s mental affirmative washing over the bond and, shifting his grip, caught the Vulcan’s hand, raising it to his face, feeling the warmth expand to encompass his mind as fingers found the meld points.

_It was deep, here, in the lake, and the water was pleasant, but not as warm as their embrace. He reached out to his mate, sending forward his agitation, his worry, his anxious frustration. He sent his shame and his underlying question...am I alright? And he followed along behind, persistently searching, looking to reassure himself...are you alright? His mate offered all that he was in return, holding everything to scrutiny, and they saw it at the same time, a growing disorder, an increasing disturbance, buried deep within their shared bond-space, affecting them both._

 

     The meld broke, and Jim realized they were sitting on the floor, touching each other’s faces. He lowered his hands, and, after a moment, Spock did as well.

     Jim’s voice was a whisper. “I wasn’t full of shit. Something’s wrong with us, isn’t it? My tension, your fight to control; it’s not just the mission stress.” His thoughts whirled, thinking of all the ways Spock’s mind had been injured: the loss of his planet, the mind-sifter, Hamilton’s device, the deadly projection and the devastating aborted _katric_ transfer, the abnormal broken link with Siforit, the broken link with Jim as he died. And their bond itself was unique; their knowledge of it based more in legend than fact. Jim’s brain had experienced physiological changes; telepathic sensitivity where none should be, and the long-term consequences were still unknown. McCoy’s ongoing concern over the unidentified aspects of their unprecedented connection seemed suddenly to be disturbingly appropriate.

     “I do not know, Jim.” Spock’s voice was slightly uneven. “It could yet be a result of...stress, as you say. A healer would be able to aid me in... .”

     “A healer wouldn’t help us before,” Jim cut in sharply, remembering the disbelief they had faced from New Vulcan after the incident with the _katric_ transfer.

     Spock remained silent, his hands resting on his knees, and they watched each other. Finally, the captain took a breath, his voice gentling. “I’d chalk it up to stress, except for the timing. This may have to do with that link; with something Siforit sent or projected, or some kind of interference by that malevolent force or whatever you called it, even before the link broke.” He set his jaw, determination spreading across the bond. “If so, then our best chance to fix it lies ahead of us.”

     The Vulcan met his eyes, and Jim saw his own determination mirrored there. “Indeed, _t’hy’la_.” Spock reached for Jim’s hand and entwined their fingers, holding on gently. “I find that the effects are lessened with your touch.”

     Jim tightened his fingers, a sad expression on his face. “I knew something was off. When you started melding with me while we slept, I knew it.” He exhaled, looking down at their joined hands. “Well, I guess the upside is that I get to drag you to bed with no allowances for Vulcan wakefulness.” He gave his bondmate a wry smile, and watched the corners of Spock’s mouth turn up slightly in response. Softly, he reached out with his free hand and brushed his mate’s lips, blue eyes wistful. “And you smile more.”

 

 

 

     The red alert claxon sounded, and Jim was ripped out of a deep sleep, a sudden chill encompassing him as the light meld broke and his bondmate’s warm body leapt from his side. Spock was already practically dressed as Jim twisted to hit the comm. “Kirk to bridge, status!”

     “Chen here, sir. Long-range sensor sweeps have encountered a ship’s signature, directly in our path. We have slowed to warp two and taken an evasive course to avoid reciprocal detection. So far, they haven’t appeared to have scanned us. Shields are up and weapons are standing ready.”

     Jim reached out to catch a uniform and boots tossed to him by his first officer just before Spock raced out into the corridor. “Good work, Chen, on my way. Maintain defensive posture and continue scanning.” With the gamma shift command officer’s acknowledgement, Jim flipped the channel closed and pulled on his uniform, remembering to go through to his own quarters before jogging out into the corridor. The ambient lighting had shifted red, and crewmembers moved out of his way as he ran to the turbolift, the chrono indicating that they were less than six hours away from Phi Tertia A III orbit.

     “Captain on the bridge!”

     Jim stepped out of the lift and glanced at the viewscreen, now displaying a tactical display overlaying the star trails of warp space. Lieutenant Chen stood up from the command chair. “Status unchanged, Captain. We’re holding a circular evasive course, maintaining a constant distance from the contact. All stations standing ready.”

     “Thank you, Lieutenant.” Jim gave the young officer a nod and walked over to where Spock was closely monitoring the sensor array. “Mr. Spock? Any more detail on the contact?”

     The Vulcan looked up. “Yes, sir. Scans indicate a vessel stopped in space, apparently drifting. Its mass suggests an equivalency to ours, and there are no energy signals indicating active operation. The configuration of the vessel is alien, and the surface material is a substance similar to rhenium diboride, but specifics are unclear due to the material’s apparent native tendency to obscure sensor lock. Zero life-signs, but the interference with the sensors may restrict our ability to detect internal function and status.”

     Jim glanced back at the screen. “Recommendation?”

     Spock raised an eyebrow. “I would recommend a closer investigation, Captain. There are no other contacts in the area, and the vessel does not appear to be an immediate threat.”

     “It could be a trap,” Jim said cautiously. _And if it is, we don't have backup._

“Indeed, sir,” Spock replied evenly. _We do not have a choice. We must not show weakness in any case._

     “Well,” Jim said loudly, turning away to stand next to the command chair. “Only one way to find out.” The alpha shift bridge crew had arrived, and had relieved their gamma counterparts, and Jim nodded to Sulu. “Let’s break from the evasive course, Mr. Sulu, take us in; final approach on impulse power. Maintain full shields, and stand by on weapons.”

     “Aye, sir.”

     “Lieutenant Uhura, copy all log entries and sensor briefs to this point and send to Command on a secure channel. And begin broadcast of universal hail to the contact vessel.”

     “Yes, sir.”

     Jim seated himself in the command chair as the _Enterprise_ dropped out of warp space and the tactical plot flew to the periphery of the viewscreen as the mysterious vessel loomed before them.

 

 

 


	4. Finding Trouble

Chapter Four: Finding Trouble

 

 

     The _Enterprise_ maneuvered carefully around the alien vessel. On the bridge, Jim stared in fascination at the craft, which could be described as a work of art. It was of a size with the heavy cruiser, but shaped like a streamlined and elongated bird of prey. Sleek and sculpted, with no obvious ports, the hull gleamed a dull silver in the ambient starlight. It was only as the starship swung around to view the rear of the craft that its apparently lifeless condition became evident. A large part of the rear was missing, torn away in some long-ago encounter. The interior was dark, the atmosphere gone, and no sign of organic remains were detectable. Once it had been apparent that no threat was imminent, they had retrieved samples of the ship’s mysterious outer hull for analysis and commenced with detailed scans.

     “It sure is pretty,” Bones remarked dryly, from where he stood behind Jim’s chair, having come onto the bridge as the ship stood down to yellow alert.

     The captain nodded absently. “It is. Was.” He turned his head slightly. “Mr. Spock? Sensor readings?”

     The Vulcan rose from his seat and took a step forward. “The craft is effectively dead, sir. From this distance, I can confirm zero energy output or life-signs. The outer hull is evidently highly resistant to impact damage, and an estimate of the age of the vessel is impossible.” He paused, and stepped down to stand next to the captain’s chair, on the opposite side from the doctor. “However, you recall that I mentioned before the difficulty in obtaining a sensor lock on this vessel’s hull due to the unique material properties.” At his captain’s nod, Spock continued, “I modified the scanning algorithm to compensate for the distortion, and am now reading the presence of at least sixteen other such vessels, scattered across space between our present location and our destination, in various states of disintegration.”

     “A war?”

     Spock met Jim’s eyes. “That is the most likely conclusion, sir.”

     McCoy raised his eyebrows. “So they just left all this hanging out in space like a big junk pile?”

     Jim’s gaze moved back to the vessel adrift in front of them. “I’m getting the impression that none of ‘them’ were left to clean up, Bones.” He stood up abruptly, the adrenaline from the red alert still lingering in his veins. “Lieutenant Uhura, are you picking up any kind of communication from Phi Tertia? Any sensor sweeps, beacons, anything?”

     Nyota shook her head, her dark ponytail swinging. “No, sir.”

     Jim had walked over to stand in front of the helm console, staring out at the long-dead craft. “I want to take a closer look. Mr. Sulu, resume course for Phi Tertia A III, warp four.”

     “Aye, sir. ETA five point two hours at that speed.”

     “Punch it.” The view ahead swept away from the derelict ship and the bright lines of star trails lit up the forward screen as they shot back into warp space. Jim turned back. “Mr. Spock, I want constant sensor sweeps ahead towards that system, and have the Materials people get to work on that outer plating.”

     “Yes, sir.”

     Jim reached over to hit the intercom on Chekov’s station. “Kirk to Engineering.”

     “Scott here, sir.”

     “Scotty, have you taken a look at those detailed scans of the alien vessel?”

     “Aye, sir, an’ a fine piece o’machinery she is.” There was a loaded pause and then, “Beats me what makes ‘er go, though.”

     Jim rolled his eyes as McCoy stifled an amused cough. “Well, Mr. Scott, would you mind getting on that? We’ve got just over five hours to planetfall and I’d like a clue as to what we might be facing.”

     Scotty’s voice was as chipper as ever. “Aye, sir. Would’a been nice t’ stick around a bit more an’ ‘ave a look inside, but Ah’ll do ma’ best.”

     “Good. Kirk out.” Spock had moved back over to his station and Jim met McCoy’s eyes. “C’mon Bones, I want to talk to you.” The doctor shrugged and followed the captain as he walked towards the turbolift, and Jim called over his shoulder, “Mr. Spock, you have the conn.” _I’m going to tell Bones what we found last night._

     “Yes, Captain.” _He will not be pleased._

Jim’s mouth twisted as he stepped into the lift. _No shit._

 

 

 

     Ten minutes until orbital approach, Jim sat in his command chair, trying not to let his jumpiness show. The subtle buzz along his nerves had advanced, again, over the five-hour journey into the unknown. The ship had maintained yellow alert, and Spock’s relentless focus had been poured into his duties, but Jim could still feel the occasional sharp emotional repression that had alarmed him initially.

     McCoy had not reacted as Jim had expected upon the captain’s description of what he had felt during the meld and his suspicions of what it could be. Instead of anger, the doctor had merely sunk back into his chair, rubbing a hand over his eyes and then silently motioned his friend into the main area of sickbay for a full scan.

     Afterwards, the doctor had shook his head. “I don’t know, Jim. You check out absolutely fine, just like Spock. Your ACTH and catecholamine hormone levels are a bit elevated, but I really think this is due to chronic stress. It’s not affecting your performance, as far as conventional measures go, at least not yet. I can run this by M’Benga, but in the absence of any obvious physical markers, he probably won’t be able to say much more than me. And there’s no way to get you to a Vulcan healer right now.” The doctor had sighed, crossing his arms. “With anyone else I’d tell you not to worry about it, but with you two, well, I just don’t know. All I can say is keep an eye on the symptoms and let me know if they get worse.”

     There hadn’t been anything more to say, and Jim had simply nodded in the face of his friend’s concern and retreated back to the bridge, sending a brief message of reassurance when his bondmate looked up from his panels as the captain emerged from the lift. Now, Jim took a deliberate breath, forcing his mind to the task at hand, watching the countdown superimposed on the viewscreen in front of him.

     “Mr. Spock, sensor readings?”

     The Vulcan straightened. “Negative indications of other ships, aside from the derelicts mentioned previously, and none in orbit. Scans indicate that the surface of the planet is completely devoid of life, with indications of large regions of fused silica in patterns consistent with a large, cataclysmic event. Preliminary age estimates suggest that the event took place approximately eight-thousand years ago.” Jim had turned in his seat to regard his first officer, and Spock stepped forward. “However, sensors are also reading faint, intermittent energy signals emanating from approximately one-kilometer below the surface within the largest continental mass on the northern hemisphere of the planet.”

     “From underground... .” Jim’s tone was thoughtful.

     Nyota spoke up from her station, “An underground bunker of sorts would make sense if a planetary catastrophe was imminent, sir. Assuming, of course, they couldn’t have escaped into space.”

     “Starting orbital deceleration, Captain,” Sulu said, his hands moving over his console. Spock moved quickly back to his station and Jim leaned forward in his chair as the lights of warp space disappeared and the ship smoothly approached the new world.

     The planet appeared unnaturally homogeneous, devoid of indications of atmosphere, with only a few craters marring its surface. The topography was a long-wavelength series of ridges and troughs, all appearing smoothed over, and, in places, cut through or overlain by swaths of glassed rock.

     “Debris, sir. Adjusting approach vector and orbital configuration to avoid it.” Sulu adjusted his controls, looking over to converse with Chekov as the viewscreen showed an overlay with bright red areas indicating loose material surrounding the planet.

     “Debris is of a similar composition to the surface of the planet, Captain. Perhaps ejecta from the cataclysmic event.” Spock’s voice was its usual monotone, but Jim caught a rush of excitement through the bond, quickly damped down. “I am now reading a substantial underground chamber.” He turned to meet Jim’s eyes. “Oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere, well within human tolerance. Zero life-signs.”

     Jim nodded as the ship swept into a close orbit. “Can we beam in?”

     “Yes, sir, however the intervening rock matrix will make it necessary to boost the transporter gain significantly. I estimate only two to three persons will be able to be transported at a time.” _Jim, I request permission to lead the landing party._

     “Acknowledged.” _You think I’m going to give up going down there?_

     Jim could feel his bondmate’s determination and an abruptly protective impulse that sparked through his mind.  _I could cite regulations, Jim, but you know as well as I that we remain in a precarious position. It is necessary for one of us to remain in command._

 _Fuck._ Jim’s jaw tightened, but he raised his chin casually. “Mr. Spock will lead the landing party. Lieutenant Uhura, you’ll join him.” He pressed the intercom. “Doctor McCoy, Lieutenant Commander Abioye and a security detail report to the transporter room for landing party duty.” Turning, he regarded Spock, who had stood, Nyota beside him. “Stay in touch. I want a full record of this.” _Be careful, babe._

     “Yes, sir.” _And you, ashayam._

Jim couldn’t avoid tensing his left hand into a fist as he watched his officers disappear into the turbolift.

 

 

 

     Spock materialized first in the chamber, flanked by McCoy and a security officer. Pulling his tricorder out, he motioned to his two companions to move aside and walked forward, scanning. The soft chime of the beam sounded again, and the chamber was bathed in golden light as Nyota, Abioye, and the second security guard materialized. With the successful transport, Spock flipped open his communicator. “Spock to _Enterprise_. All team members present and we are proceeding. Environment reads stable and no hostile indications to report.”

     The communications officer onboard acknowledged Spock’s message, and he turned his focus to the chamber around them. Scans had indicated a maze of minor chambers, connected by narrow hallways to this, the main room. The air was stale, but breathable, and evidently continued to be circulated. Pale reddish light, similar in wavelength to the planet’s sun, emanated from narrow filaments lining the junctions of the walls with the floor and ceiling. Nyota, McCoy, and Abioye had spread out, tricorders working, and Spock’s gaze followed the doctor to where he stood near the center of the room. Directly in front of him was a large sculpture of an idealized, featureless humanoid, hollow, and split roughly in half. Both the statue and the walls appeared to be constructed of the same material as the skin of the long-dead vessel that they had encountered, and as Spock approached the sculpture, he could sense something resonating on the edges of his telepathic consciousness. He paused, concentrating, but could not sense anything further, only this...residue.

     “They were humanoid,” McCoy remarked dryly. He reached out to touch the statue, and Spock suddenly experienced a thrill of alarm.

     “Stop!” he ordered loudly, his voice echoing in the hall, and McCoy visibly jumped, pulling his hand back just centimeters from the surface.

     “What the hell, Spock? You scared the shit out of me.”

     “Do not touch it.” Spock moved closer, watching his tricorder. “It appears to hold a psionic signature. Touch may allow for invasive contact.”

     McCoy’s eyebrows were practically in his hairline, but he backed away.

     Spock repressed rising emotions of surprise and excitement as he interpreted the data flashing across his screen. “Fascinating.” Raising his voice, he addressed the other officers, “Be certain not to touch anything. I believe that the materials within this chamber are sensitive to psionic activity.”

     The other humans glanced around anxiously. Uhura looked at him. “Commander, I’m reading the presence of active energy emanations down this hallway. Permission to proceed?”

     “I will accompany you, Lieutenant.” He looked at McCoy and Abioye. “Spread out and investigate the nearby subchambers. Keep your locator beacons active.”

     McCoy was looking particularly irritated, but nodded. “Come on, Orun, I’m sticking with you.” The xenoanthropologist smiled weakly and followed the doctor down one of the hallways, trailed by one of the guards.

     The energy readings were coming from a smaller chamber nearby, and as Nyota and Spock stepped in, the filaments on the walls grew more brilliant. One of the silvery walls shimmered as they approached, the surface suddenly transforming into what appeared to be a sleek control panel, alive with multi-colored lights. Spock adjusted his tricorder and cast a look at Nyota. “Lieutenant, are you able to pick up a series of carrier frequencies?”

     Her eyebrow went up as she scanned. “Yes. I’m getting about thirty-two separate frequencies, each with a set of sub-harmonics.” She met his eyes. “A filing and access system? Or language keys?”

     “Set to record.” As Nyota nodded an affirmative, Spock studied the rest of the room. He could sense a psionic “warmth” from the walls, growing somewhat stronger the closer he advanced. Through the bond, he sensed his bondmate’s growing tension, and as he reached to reassuringly touch their link he felt a sudden pulse to the wall nearest him. Almost on instinct, he flashed a mental warning to Jim, and slammed his shields down. The wall shimmered, and Spock tensed, but the gleaming play of light slowly eased, and he could only sense the background warmth again.

     “Spock?”

     The Vulcan turned to regard Nyota’s concerned gaze. “This material...reacted...when I touched the bond just now.”

     She looked alarmed. “You’ve shielded?”

     “Yes.” He glanced over at the control panel. “I have not sensed any directed attempts to touch my mind, but I do not want to endanger the captain, or the ship. Have you completed the recording?”

     “Yes, but it’s got my memory chip bursting at the seams.” She tilted her head, stepping towards him. “That communication Jim talked about at the briefing, it was telepathic wasn’t it?”

     He met her dark eyes. “It was.”

     She swallowed. “You’re okay?”

     He reached out, pressing two fingers gently to her wrist. “ _Nash-veh nam-tor, ko-kai.”_

     She smiled and held his gaze as he pulled his hand back. Hanging her tricorder securely across her chest, she looked expectantly back towards the entrance. “Shall we?”

     He opened his mouth to respond when the lights flickered. Spock couldn’t help gasping as his shields were inundated with a powerful force as the walls around them practically undulated with reaction and there was a sudden scream from outside. Nyota drew her phaser. “Spock?”

     “Get to the main chamber. Go.” He pulled his communicator out, running out of the subchamber and down the hallway, Nyota a step behind him. “Spock to _Enterprise_. Emergency beam-out requested. Stand by.” His shields had held, but he knew that the humans would not be able to resist any such attacks.

     As the Vulcan emerged into the main chamber, he saw the others clustered together near one of the walls, one of the security guards missing. McCoy was kneeling next to Abioye, whose face held a gray cast under his dark complexion. One of his arms was gone.

     “Stand clear for beam-out!”

     Spock motioned to the group, and McCoy stood up. “I’ve got to go back for Watkins. He was checking out the other chamber, there, and might be injured.”

     Spock nodded. “Go. Quickly.” As McCoy moved away, the Vulcan called in to energize, and Nyota, Abioye, and Ensign Krieger disappeared into the beam. “Stand by, _Enterprise_.” Spock moved after McCoy, again feeling the building swell of the telepathic force.

     “Commander, we’re losing your signal. Boost your comm. Repeat, boost your... .” The voice of the communications officer disappeared into a blur of static and Spock burst into the other subchamber where McCoy was standing, staring with a horrified expression at a blackened smudge cast against the near wall.

     Spock could feel the psionic surge beginning to crest, washing harmlessly against his own shields. But, the doctor was vulnerable, and Spock sensed the walls starting to shift, energy building. There was a split second when the doctor’s form was silhouetted against the wall, and Spock dove towards him. A brilliant beam shot out from the far wall, slicing over the space where McCoy had stood just milliseconds before, and Spock could smell the ozone in the air. Twisting as he landed, the Vulcan reached and pressed his fingers to the human’s face, initiating a meld and extending his shields to protect the doctor’s mind, feeling the telepathic scan begin again, building, building, and crashing harmlessly against his shields. Slowly, the force diminished and disappeared, and Spock dimly sensed the silver walls return to their normal passivity, the psionic field to its original muted warmth. Carefully, Spock ended the meld and released the doctor, who sat still for a moment, his eyes unfocused and his mouth open.

     “Doctor McCoy? Are you able to respond?” Spock had felt the human’s mind struggling frantically against his, terrified, when he had first made the connection, but he had had no choice but to proceed. “Doctor?”

     McCoy’s eyes focused sharply on Spock, and with a yell, he swung his fist. The blow connected solidly, and Spock tasted blood as his head snapped backwards, but he did not resist.

     “You green-blooded bastard! What the fuck was that?”

     “We were being scanned, telepathically. Your unshielded mind was drawing the attack; therefore I was forced to shield it.” Spock brushed his fingers across his lower lip, seeing green smeared there. “Do not touch the walls.”

     McCoy was glaring, his breath coming in heaves. “Where’s the ship? Why weren’t we beamed out?”

     “Our communications were disrupted; possibly as a result of this chamber’s automatic defenses. As one defense mechanism appears to exhibit time dependence, it is logical to assume that others do as well. We shall wait.”

     McCoy’s eyes had travelled back over to the blackened smudge that was all that remained of Ensign Watkins. “Abioye tripped and touched the wall. Is that what caused this?”

     Spock did not see a reason to respond, the answer being obvious. Instead, he checked his shields. His head was aching as a result of the complete barrier he had constructed against the bond, and he felt somehow dulled, used to feeling Jim’s colorful presence in his mind. The filaments around them were glowing steadily, the walls smooth, and no other dangers seemed obvious. Spock flipped open his communicator again, but there was only static.

 

 

Chapter End Notes:

 

" _Nash-veh nam-tor, ko-kai_ ": I am, sister. (VLD)

 


	5. Come Apart The Pieces

Chapter Five: Come Apart The Pieces

 

 

     Jim paced in front of the viewscreen, his hands locked behind him. Spock’s warning had been lightning-fast: something about a telepathic danger and then the Vulcan’s formidable shields had snapped into place, cutting off Jim’s perception of their bond. Minutes later, there had been a call for an emergency beam-out, and then, after retrieving half of the landing party, communications had gone silent. Now, three crewmembers were unaccounted for and had been for over thirty minutes. Sensors were as deadlocked as the comm equipment, despite Uhura’s best efforts. The communications officer had rushed on to the bridge directly from the transporter room, her tricorder held like a priceless object, passed carefully to the science officer at Spock’s station with detailed instructions. Her report to the captain had been efficient and succinct, and she had gone to work immediately on her boards.

     The captain chewed the inside of his cheek. With Spock’s shields effectively blocking the bond, he felt slightly disoriented, chilled, and was experiencing a growing headache. His bondmate was still alive; he knew that much. But the report from Uhura did not ease his tension. Now he was waiting: waiting for progress with re-establishing voice or transporter contact, waiting for news from the sensor array, waiting for the science officer to securely process the huge amount of data recorded from the control room in the subterranean chamber, waiting for something from Spock.

     “Captain!”

     Jim swung around at the sound of Uhura’s voice. “Do you have them?”

     Uhura’s face was still wrought with tension. “No, sir. Incoming message from Admiral Fitzpatrick, coded eyes-only.”

     “Pipe it down to my quarters, Lieutenant. Keep me informed as to any progress re-establishing comms.”

     “Yes, sir.” Uhura’s eyes were full of determined compassion, and he managed a tight half-smile in her direction before turning towards the lift. “Mr. Sulu, you have the conn.”

 

 

 

     Spock raised the tricorder, scanning the walls around him, fine-tuning the detection matrix to more closely examine the material properties. It had been twenty-nine point six minutes since he had lost contact with the ship, yet he dared not raise his shields to communicate with his bondmate. The reaction from before suggested that any sort of telepathic communication could potentially be detected.

     McCoy still sat in the same place on the floor, following the Vulcan’s movements with his eyes. The doctor had not spoken since Spock had cautiously resumed his scans, and the human’s almost panicked state following the meld had now turned into a contemplative silence. Spock adjusted a control on his device. He was reading a constantly shifting signal acting as an interference wave against communications and standard long-range sensor frequencies. “Fascinating.”

     “You’re full of shit, you know.”

     Spock’s eyebrow rose, but he did not turn from his perusal of the data stream. “I beg your pardon, Doctor.”

     “This whole not-having-emotions thing. You’re full of shit.” The doctor shifted. “I knew that you felt something, the way you act around Jim, but I didn’t know that you felt like _that_.” He emphasized the last word, a challenging note in his voice.

     Spock viciously repressed an upwelling of embarrassment, anxiety, and anger, and his expression remained impassive. “Your statement is excessively vague.”

     McCoy’s eyes narrowed. “You’re the one who grabbed onto my mind, Spock. I want to talk about what happened. I want to talk about you and Jim.”

     “You previously professed disinterest in conversing on that subject.”

     “I knew what I said to you that night in the bar, was wrong, but I didn’t know just how wrong it was until now.” McCoy pushed himself to his feet, taking a step towards the Vulcan.

     Spock asserted his controls again, forcing himself to remain still. “I touched your mind in order to save your life, Doctor. Etiquette dictates that any knowledge or perceptions gleaned from such contact remain private.”

     “Yeah, thanks, by the way. For saving my life.” McCoy gestured loosely to Spock’s head. “Sorry about the punch.”

     “It would be impossible for the ship to function at maximum efficiency without its CMO.” Spock dismissively turned his head back to his tricorder.

     The doctor snorted. “Bullshit! Why can’t you just admit to having a fucking feeling?” When Spock remained silent, McCoy continued, taking another step forward, “Especially feelings like that. I said before that I didn’t think you could love like humans do, but I didn’t realize... .”

     “Doctor,” Spock interrupted the human sharply. “I do not wish to continue this conversation.” He repressed his swelling emotions again, finding it more difficult with the energy he was pouring into his shields. The lack of contact with his bondmate was introducing additional stress, and he could feel a growing, uncontrollable anger at the doctor’s illogical persistence.

     McCoy advanced further, moving dangerously close to Spock’s personal space. “I thought that Jim would be the one who might struggle with unmatched love, but from what I saw, I think it’s actually you.”

     Spock had looked away. He could feel his hands beginning to tremble. McCoy took another step closer, oblivious, his tone gentler, almost awed. “I thought it was from an over-active sense of duty, but you protect him so desperately because you love him. Unconditionally.” A strange expression flitted across the doctor’s face. “That kid doesn’t know how fucking lucky he is.”

     Spock was holding himself rigidly still, avoiding the doctor’s gaze, concentrating his remaining energy on forcing his churning emotions to subside. Some part of his mind registered confusion at his inability to control, at his sudden powerful urge to strike out.

     “Spock?” McCoy reached out and softly touched his wrist.

     It took the last vestiges of Spock’s controls to prevent himself from lashing out, but he couldn’t help the rushing intensity of his emotions from surging across the contact. In an instant, he sensed the human’s astonishment and fear, and McCoy let go suddenly, backpedaling to stand a good two meters away, holding his hand protectively against his chest, murmuring, “Jesus Christ... .”

     Spock took a breath, and turned his back on the doctor, raising his tricorder again and forcing his mind to his task, his hands still trembling slightly. There was something wrong; his controls should not have weakened with such provocation, his emotions should not have been allowed to burst forth so freely, his ability to shield should not be so taxing. He could not sense the disturbance that he had observed within his last meld with Jim, the bond-space being shielded, but he did feel somewhat...unhinged. If it was a consequence of this environment, which seemed logical, then they must find a way to escape before his shields collapsed. If it was due to the bond being closed, then the result would be the same, and escape still imperative.

 

 

 

     The captain burst onto the bridge, his entire body radiating tension. “Lieutenant Matheson, any progress with that data from the planet?”

     “No sir, not yet. I’ve isolated a primer pattern that should allow translational decode, but the computers are still chewing on it.”

     “Keep working. I want to know if anyone from that civilization survived, or if a ship made it away from the planet.”

     “Yes, sir.”

     “Uhura? Any contact?”

     “No, sir. I have isolated the cause of the interference, however. It’s an adapting feedback signal originating from the underground bunker, which appeared to have been triggered at the same time as the attack on the landing party. I think it’s a type of defense mechanism, sir. Mr. Spock inferred that the material in the walls of the room had a telepathic sensitivity; perhaps when Commander Abioye touched the wall, the defenses were initiated.”

     Jim set his jaw. “Have the Materials people gotten anywhere with their analysis?”

     Matheson shook his head. “No report yet, Captain. But they are using full isolation and decontamination protocols.”

     Jim sat down heavily in his chair. Forty-five minutes had passed since Spock had blocked the bond, and his head was pounding. The message from Fitzpatrick had been deeply troubling. According to long range scans from the _Arredondo_ , a Federation Destroyer-class battleship currently patrolling the neutral zone along _Ren shat’var_ territory, a significant energy surge had been detected, followed by indications of a powerful explosion on the surface of an uninhabited planet within the newly captured sector. Disturbingly, the _Ren shat’var_ vessels that had been involved in maneuvers along the neutral zone had moved in rapidly towards the source of the energy surge, firing on an unidentified target before moving away. Fitzpatrick had included data on the energy surge, and Jim had recognized the same signature embedded within the feedback signal now preventing contact with the away team.

     Now, the captain was left with the strange suspicion that somehow technology originating from Phi Tertia was being used in _Ren shat’var_ space, against the very people who may have brought it there. Given Uhura’s report and what Spock had sensed when the link with Siforit had been broken, the possibility, however remote, of an overpowering psionic force with malevolent intentions was becoming evident. Perhaps the _Ren shat’var_ , and Siforit in particular, had introduced something that they could not control, an alien technology of enormous power. A technology that could destroy a planet as easily as it could a mind.

     Jim shot to his feet, walking quickly over to Uhura. “Nyota, get whomever was working with Abioye on the supposed meteor impacts on those no-contact planets up here. I’ve got a few new questions for them.” She nodded, and as her fingers swept over her board, Jim turned away slightly, eyeing the viewscreen, trying to will away the helpless tension that was threatening to consume him. He swallowed and suppressed a shiver. The effects of the shuttered bond seemed to be growing more intense. He glanced again at the chrono. Forty-nine minutes.

 

 

 

     The soft whir of the doctor’s medical scanner sounded behind the Vulcan, making him tighten his shoulders involuntarily. Spock had made his way back to the subchamber he and Nyota had been in immediately before the attack was triggered. He had abandoned his tricorder readings, and was devoting most of his concentration and energy to his shields. His controls were slipping even more, and he realized his hands were balled into fists at his sides. He could feel the doctor’s emotions battering his shields at such close proximity, and he had an irrational urge to run from the room. He wanted Jim with a desperation that was profoundly disturbing.

     McCoy’s voice was quiet. “Spock, even if that little display back there hadn’t happened, I’d be convinced something in here is getting to you. Your readings are off: heart rate, respiration. If you were human, you’d be diagnosed as having a panic attack.”

     “I am functional, Doctor.” Spock refused to meet McCoy’s eyes. “I apologize for my behavior earlier. You are correct that I am encountering difficulty here. Either the environment is causing this, or the complete shielding of the bond.”

     The doctor flipped his scanner closed with a flick of his wrist. “Do you think Jim’s being affected in the same way?”

     “I do not know.”

     McCoy sighed and glanced around. “Well, we better find a way out soon or we’ll find out if pissing on the floor is an insult in their culture.” He crossed his arms and rocked on his toes. “Look, Spock, I want to apologize, too. I shouldn’t have forced that subject back there. My ex-wife always accused me of acting like a border collie with a herd of sheep, wanting to be in charge and in everyone’s business.” He looked down. “Sorry.”

     Spock hesitated and then turned slightly, clasping his hands behind his back. “I accept your apology, Leonard.”

     McCoy’s eyes widened at the use of his given name. “Good Lord. We really need to get the fuck out of here.”

 

 

 

     Almost one-and-a-half hours had passed, and Jim was sitting in his chair, arms and legs crossed, his jaw set. His head was aching and he was downright cold. Adrenaline was pumping along his bloodstream, making him feel like he was going to fly off the handle. The bond was still there; Spock was not dead. But Bones and the young security guard... . His eyes flicked to the chrono again.

     Ensign Kre’la from Geology had given him a report on Abioye’s previous progress with the meteor impact hypothesis. Upon viewing the data again, Kre’la had noted that some facts suggested that the ‘events’ may not have been completely natural. Aside from the timing, the events seemed to have been centered over what were most likely ancient population centers: continents located well within temperate climate zones. Additionally, the scans and supplementary modeling indicated that the events were of a much higher temperature than would be expected for a normal asteroid collision.

     “Captain, I have something!” Matheson’s tone of voice was excited, and Jim spun around to face him. The young science officer’s green eyes were wide, and he gestured sharply towards his panels. “The computers have completed an initial analysis of the information Lieutenant Uhura provided, sir. It suggests that the underground area wasn’t a bunker, but was a library or data storage facility. I’m still working on the exact translation algorithm, but we appear to have a cache of historical and technological data.”

     Jim stood up abruptly. “Anything on how to deactivate that interference field?”

     “No, sir, but there are a lot of technical schematics, and what looks like tactical plots. And there’s one in particular that you should see.” Matheson punched in a sequence and a plot flew up onto one of the screens above his console.

     Jim stepped closer and peered at it. The writing was unintelligible, but the graphic was pretty obvious: a star chart, with Phi Tertia highlighted in the center, and nearby star systems outlined in red, including the three that were included in Abioye’s study. Further out, other systems were shown in blue. Jim squinted. “Can you superimpose our own data?”

     Matheson snapped his fingers. “Exactly, sir. Check it out.” He hit a button and the standard Federation charts flew up. Two of the systems in blue overlapped.

     Jim stared. “One of those is in Beta quadrant.”

     “Yes, sir. And the other is in the sector recently occupied by the _Ren shat’var_.” Matheson grinned. “This might be the connection we’re looking for.”

     “Good work, Lieutenant.” Jim put a hand briefly on his shoulder. “Keep it up.”

     “Yes, sir!”

 

 

 

     Spock stood directly in front of the sleek, silvery wall, sensing the warm buzz of psionic energy. Behind him, McCoy waited, his arms crossed, a deep scowl on his face and overwhelming concern in his eyes. “You don’t know if this will work. It could trigger that fucking defensive laser show again, or worse.”

     “We have not had contact with the ship for one point seven hours, Doctor. My previous estimation that the defensive mechanisms were subject to a timing limitation may have been in error. As the interference signal I detected has not altered or diminished, it is unlikely that we will be able to re-establish communications in any reasonable timeframe. Furthermore, I am finding it difficult to maintain a necessary level of shielding, and my ability to control is diminishing, as you witnessed. This may offer us our best chance at escape.”

     “You’ll die.” The doctor sounded desperate to dissuade him. “And you’ll take Jim with you.”

     Spock remembered his bondmate’s hopefulness in the face of unbeatable odds, raising his own hand towards the shimmering wall with slow deliberation and quoting Jim’s words from before the showdown with Nero, “It will work.”

     He blocked out the doctor’s presence, adjusted his shields to hold strong over the bond, and pressed his hand against the smooth surface, feeling a powerful force surge into his mind. Dimly, he heard himself scream.

 

 


	6. Quid Pro Quo

Chapter Six: Quid Pro Quo

 

 

     Leonard McCoy remembered Jim’s words to him, about Spock, months ago:  _If love defines what it means to be human, then his is the most human soul out there._ He would never have believed it, if it weren’t for that unexpected and unasked-for intimate contact with the half-Vulcan’s mind. A mind that was astonishingly capable of a staggeringly deep well of emotion and natural compassion, all hidden beneath a lifetime of Vulcan discipline and rigorous control. Leonard’s last desperate hope as he saw Spock reach for that wall was that he wouldn’t be forced to look the captain in the eyes and tell him that his bondmate’s mind was gone and that depthless love lost to Jim forever.

     Spock had told the doctor not to touch him, under any circumstances, once he had established contact, but that first anguished scream had Leonard protectively reaching out for the Vulcan’s shoulder, stopping only at the very last second. Forcing his hands into fists, Leonard stood helplessly as Spock cried out again, both of the Vulcan’s hands pressed against the wall now, brown eyes shut tightly, his face contorted. Around them, the lighting had intensified, and the silvery walls were practically undulating. Leonard could hear a strange metallic pinging coming from somewhere above them and he could feel his heart racing, expecting any second to see the startling flash of energy that took Abioye’s arm and Watkins’ life. An array of shapes coalesced along the far wall, vaguely humanoid, featureless, remaining for an eerie moment before being subsumed again into the silvery swirls.

     “No!” Spock pulled his hands violently away from the wall, his body collapsing back to the floor. Leonard moved to his side as the undulations eased and the lights dimmed, the chamber silent around them once more.

     “Spock?” Leonard gently turned the Vulcan over, reaching for a pulse. Spock’s eyes were closed, his face pale, green blood running from his nose, but his heartbeat was steady. The silence was suddenly broken by the sound of the first officer’s communicator beeping, and Leonard reached quickly to flip it open. “McCoy here. About fucking time!”

     “Bones! The jamming signal just cleared and we’re working to reestablish transporter lock. Are you okay? We’re only reading two life-signs.” Jim spoke rapidly, and Leonard knew what he left unsaid. On the floor, Spock stirred and blinked his eyes open at the sound of his bondmate’s voice.

     “We lost Watkins, Jim, and Spock’s been injured. We need that beam-out quick before this chamber decides to start playing games again.” Leonard glanced around the room again worriedly.

     “Stand by, Bones. We’re picking up something new here.”

     Spock struggled to push himself to a shaky sitting position, his voice weak and rasping, his eyes unfocused. “The ship. They are targeting the ship.”

     “Jim, Spock says the ship’s being targeted!” Leonard reached out and grasped Spock’s upper arm, wanting to convey support. The Vulcan tensed, but did not pull away and Leonard spoke into the communicator again, “Jim? Any day now!”

     Leonard could hear another channel opening on the line and Jim’s barked command. “Energize now, Scotty!” Still gripping Spock’s arm protectively, Leonard felt the stomach-dropping swirl of dematerialization, and, as the silvery walls faded around him, decided that transporters weren’t so bad after all.

 

 

 

     It took every scrap of willpower Jim had left to stay on the bridge as the order to transport went through. He was standing next to Uhura’s station, and dimly heard her confirm that the remainder of the landing party was safely onboard as the bond unfurled in his mind.

     “Red alert! Mr. Sulu, raise shields, take us out to maximum orbit and hold us there. Any blip, anything at all from that planet and I want you ready to warp us out, got it?” Spock’s mind was distant, an echo of pain suffusing their connection.

     “Yes, sir.”

     Jim watched as the planet swung out and away as the _Enterprise_ shifted into its new orbital path and reached mentally for his mate.  _Spock?_

     Matheson turned from his sensors. “Captain, that additional pulse may be a locking signal, but it isn’t steady. Either we’re too far out now, or it’s just not working properly. And I’m not getting any indications of weaponry or anything else.”

     Uhura suddenly raised a hand to her earpiece and looked up at him. “Sir, I’m picking up a transmission. Faint, and repeating. It sounds automatic, being projected directionally to a location coincident with a low orbit.” She frowned. “The weaponry may not have been located on the planet, sir. Perhaps a ship?”

     “A ship that’s no longer there.” Jim’s voice trailed off, thinking of Fitzpatrick’s message. He felt again for Spock’s mind, could sense a struggle for control, a harsh ache; his bondmate still hadn’t answered him. _You okay?_

     Uhura was still looking at him, but he could tell her attention was on the transmission. She blinked. “Sir, the message has stopped.”

     Matheson turned in his chair at the next station. “The locking signal, too, sir.”

     Jim rubbed his hand over his mouth, disturbed by the lack of response from his bondmate and the strange discomfort of the bond. “Right. Keep scanning. Stand down to yellow alert. Mr. Sulu, you have the conn, I’ll be in sickbay.”

     A flurry of acknowledgments followed his words, but he was already halfway to the lift.

 

 

 

     Jim burst into sickbay, and was already walking through towards the isolation rooms as one of the nurses called after him, “They’re in Iso A, sir!” He hit the access panel and stepped through, turning immediately to hit the button next to the first room on the left.

     The door slid open smoothly, and Jim couldn’t help the gentle exhalation that escaped him as he sensed the immediate presence of his bondmate. Spock was sitting upright on the biobed, his long legs swung over the side, and he made a tiny, almost involuntary movement in Jim’s direction as their eyes connected.

     Jim stepped forward, belatedly noticing Bones standing, his arms crossed, a few paces away. M’Benga was there, too, next to McCoy, with an uncharacteristic frown on his face.

     “What happened down there?” _Why didn’t you answer me?_

     “The chamber was equipped with a psionically-activated defensive system, initiated by touch or, evidently, attempted telepathic communication such as exists within our bond, Captain. I shielded to prevent access to your mind.” Spock paused, and Jim felt a surge of uneasiness over the bond. “However, the shielding became difficult to maintain and my controls were unstable, either as a result of the environment or from blocking the bond, so I determined that direct communication with the system would allow us the best chance of circumvention and re-establishing contact with the ship.”

     McCoy jumped in, “What he means is that he thought that melding with the killer psychic computer was a good idea.”

     Spock’s voice was dry. “It did enable our escape, Doctor.”

     “Yeah,” McCoy’s arms tightened and his scowl deepened. “You’re forgetting that I was there for the screaming.”

     Jim paled and his eyes fixed on Spock’s. “Are you alright?” _Please answer me, baby._

     “I am functional, Captain.” _Contact with the system was...difficult, t’hy’la._

     Jim took another step forward as he felt the effort behind his mate’s mental voice. The words crept through the bond with a dull ache behind them. Most of the captain’s own discomfort and anxiety had disappeared as soon as the bond was unshielded. “Did you learn anything else from your contact? You seemed to know we were being targeted before we did.”

     Spock’s gaze intensified. “Indeed, sir. As unlikely as it seems, I was in mental contact with a highly advanced, practically sentient computer system, still in operation after thousands of years. Through the meld, I was able to disengage the defensive protocols within the chamber; however, I ended contact as the targeting program came online, threatening the ship.” Tension tightened his features, and he pressed his lips together. “At that point, I discovered the link was somehow working both ways, and I did not want to compromise the _Enterprise_ further.”

     Jim shook his head. “It’s alright. The targeting signal wasn’t able to lock, and there wasn’t anything to shoot us anyway. A separate communication went out to a low-orbit position; possibly instructions to a long-gone ship.”

     Spock’s raised his gaze back to the captain. “The computer’s purpose was to preserve the history of the _Eren’gha_ civilization, and to protect it, utilizing the defensive measures we encountered.”

     Jim’s eyes narrowed. “ _Eren’gha_?”

     “Yes, sir. A warlike society whose empire reached into the surrounding star systems and which was wiped out in an interstellar conflict over eight thousand years ago. Only an advance vanguard, on the limits of their frontier, survived.”

     Jim’s breathing had quickened, his eyes widening. “Their frontier... . Spock, Matheson managed to decode some of the information Uhura brought back, and we got a look at a star chart that suggested their frontier extended into present Federation space, into Beta quadrant. And into the sector currently occupied by the _Ren shat’var_.”

     The captain’s mind was racing, and he could sense Spock picking up on his thoughts. He pushed on, beginning to pace back and forth in the small room. “They invaded that sector looking for something, Spock. Something specific.”

     “An outpost. Once occupied by the _Eren’gha_ warriors.” Spock’s voice was its usual monotone, but Jim could sense his excitement across the bond.

     “That missing orbiting ship: the _Ren shat’var_ must have found this planet and come upon that ship. Highly advanced, with weaponry and technology no one had dreamed of two hundred years ago. And they must have learned something about the culture from examining the ship.” Jim turned to face his bondmate, eyes bright.

     “The _Eren’gha_ were a warrior society, driven by conquest, shaped by ideals that must have appealed to those who left Vulcan in search of a new way.” Spock raised an eyebrow. “The outcast Vulcans would have felt a kinship with what they understood about the society, but their information would have been incomplete. They would have sought to increase their knowledge.”

     “They must have learned about the surviving outposts and made the long journey back in the captured ship, searching for whatever remained.”

     “ _Ren shat’var_. It translates to ‘Those who remain’.”

     “Fuck. And they found one of the outposts in fucking Klingon space. They must have encountered something; Siforit encountered something. And it destroyed his mind. Took it over. And now it has a ship and apparently a superweapon and is planning...what?”

     “Conquest.” Spock’s voice was even. “Beneath everything, I could sense a strong, unquenchable lust for power.”

     “Double fuck.”

     “Holy shit,” McCoy cut in. “You two are unbelievable.”

     “Helps to be a genius with a mind-link to a Vulcan, Bones,” Jim quipped, his eyes on his bondmate. “I’ve got to contact Command.”

     “Jim, in order to understand what it is we are dealing with, we... ,” Spock began.

     “...need to find that other outpost,” the captain finished.

     McCoy waved his hands. “Aren’t you forgetting something here?” He pointed accusingly at the Vulcan. “Your first officer may have damaged his mind getting that information for you, Jim. On top of whatever it was that happened when that link broke.”

     Jim’s eyes darted to the doctor. “I thought you were convinced that our symptoms were due to stress.”

     “Yeah, well, that was before I felt the full force of Vulcan emotions when his controls slipped down there.”

     “What do you mean?”

     Spock’s eyes had shifted to McCoy. “I melded with the Doctor in order to shield his mind during the attack that killed Ensign Watkins.”

     “What?”

     “The hobgoblin saved my life, Jim. And... .”

     “And the doctor is correct that my controls failed,” Spock interrupted almost too hastily.

     Jim’s gaze slid between his friends. “So how much of that do you think was due to the bond being blocked, and how much might be due to something else?”

     M’Benga, having held his silence to that point, stepped forward. “Blocking of the bond may have contributed to what you are describing, but it should not, in and of itself, be responsible for such a rapid loss of control. I am concerned that the circumstances surrounding the abnormally broken link may be at fault, perhaps exacerbated by the chamber. And we cannot discount that Commander Spock’s mind has been subjected to considerable stress in the past year. If the problem persists, I would recommend a healer’s intervention.”

     Jim felt a chill run down his spine. He was used to M’Benga having all the answers to anything related to Vulcan voodoo, and the doctor’s uncertainty and now obvious concern was frightening. “Okay,” he said slowly, “we’ll see what happens.” He forced a half-smile and met Spock’s eyes. “For the near future, I’ll make sure he avoids melding with enemy computers.” Turning his head, he saw McCoy’s still-tense stance and softened his voice. “We can’t do anything else right now, Bones. We’ve got possible interstellar war on our hands and from what it sounds like, the potential for a power-mad presence that would put Khan to shame.”

     McCoy’s scowl relaxed into a concerned frown. “I hope you’re wrong, Jim, about that war.”

     Jim looked at his friend, seeing the face of Ensign Watkins in his mind, remembering a young man with a kind smile who had been so eager to meet the unknown, and who had been a steady presence on several landing party missions over the past six months. “Me, too, Bones. Me, too.”

 

 


	7. Lose Yourself

Chapter Seven: Lose Yourself

 

 

     The _Enterprise_ was on its way back to Federation space at a pounding warp six. Even at that impressive speed, it would take the better part of a week to arrive back into Beta quadrant from Phi Tertia. Jim’s message to Command had included their hypothesis about the origin of the _Ren shat’var_ identity and the idea that their home base was actually a home _ship_ ; the cutting-edge technology that the group boasted scavenged from the remains of a highly advanced and long-dead alien society. He had included a detailed packet on what was known about the _Eren’gha_ , including their psionically-activated equipment, the supposed locations of the ancient outposts, and the potential consequence of their planet-killer weapon.

     Fitzpatrick had been openly astonished, but had admitted that the pieces seemed to fit. It had not been confirmed that a single ship was responsible for the now series of large explosions on planets within the _Ren shat’var_ sphere, but the appearance of such might explain the Klingon’s confusingly rapid withdrawal. The last appearance of a large alien ship had meant the decimation of their entire fleet, an event from which they had still not yet recovered. The admiral had taken the information the _Enterprise_ science teams had gleaned about the location of the second outpost, and had assigned the _Arredondo_ under Captain Tanith Brisker to investigate, ordering the _Enterprise_ to join the search upon re-entering Beta. Jim had included Spock’s latest tuning parameters for the sensors that might allow for identification of the unique material characteristic of _Eren’gha_ ships. Command’s worry now was that the series of explosions was a series of weapons tests, and that time was running out.

     With the computers continuing to work round-the-clock on deciphering the huge amount of data downloaded from the _Eren’gha_ system, and engineering and science teams busy researching the detailed scans, materials, and schematics of the destroyed ancient fleet, Jim was consigned to wait, his underlying restlessness back in full force.

     Now, three days after leaving Phi Tertia, the captain entered his quarters after alpha shift. McCoy had reluctantly released Spock to his duties after their discussion in sickbay, and the Vulcan had promptly disappeared into the labs, coordinating and supervising both the scientific analysis of the _Eren’gha_ data as well as assisting on the study of the unique properties of the silvery material, which the Materials people had dubbed elusivium, after its ability to remain elusive to sensor tracking. Jim knew his bondmate had been engrossed in his work from the directed focus of his thoughts, but he could still feel the aftereffects from the meld in the chamber, as well as Spock’s continuing struggle to control. And today, towards the end of shift, as Jim had sat in the command chair signing reports, he felt a blur of emotion rising across the bond, followed by a sharp attempt at repression and a ricochet of agonizing pain. The pain had been blocked, as well as a subsequent dull sense of depressed futility, but Jim had decided that enough was enough. Now, sitting on his bed with the lights dimmed, he closed his eyes and forced his mind into a semblance of calm. Only then, he projected to his mate.  _I need you here, now. That’s an order._

     He sensed resigned acceptance over the link, and less than ten minutes later a visibly exhausted Vulcan stepped through their shared bathroom. Jim suddenly felt his own restlessness turn into a distinct longing for touch. Instead of the mindless desperation from before, when he sought to bury his anxiousness and frustrations in hard physical contact, he now simply desired to exist within his mate’s warm embrace. It was a sharp juxtaposition, and Jim would have examined it further except for the answering cascade of longing that rippled back along the bond. Their eyes met, and Jim wordlessly held out a hand, and seconds later they were lying together on the bed, Spock’s face pressed into Jim’s neck, Vulcan strength holding their bodies together as tightly as breath would allow.

     Jim brushed his lips against silky hair, sensing the slow relaxation of his mate’s body and mind, and his own; enjoying the relief of physical contact. _I want to feel you._ Gently, he eased his mate back and tugged at the hem of his shirts. They undressed each other, and Jim couldn’t help a pleased sigh at the feeling of hot, smooth skin along his entire body. He sensed his mate’s chill in the cool air of the cabin and ordered the ambient temperature raised a few degrees, pulling a blanket up to cover them both.

     Spock had buried his head again into Jim’s neck, breathing deeply, running his hands up and down the captain’s back, and Jim closed his eyes, sensing the bond widen with the contact. He felt the first stirrings of lazy desire curl through their connection and moved his hand into his bondmate’s dark hair, shifting his hips suggestively. The Vulcan’s head came up and Jim captured his mouth, softly coaxing it open and concentrating on the gentle caress of lips and tongues. The kiss deepened as desire swelled and Spock shifted, rolling Jim to lie above him. Breathless, Jim pulled back.  _I want you_. His mate’s mental affirmative slid across the heated connection and the human reached over to the bedside table.

     Jim gently prepared his mate, amazed at the pleasure already growing across the bond from the simple touching alone. As his slickened fingers moved in and out of Spock’s body, he moved his other hand in long strokes along his mate’s lean torso, watching the defined Vulcan musculature as Spock arched up into his touch. He moved his hand to wrap around the already straining erection and felt a powerful flood of yearning wash over the bond.  _Sanu, t’hy’la, sanu._

     Jim entered him in a slow, deliberate motion, moaning at the hot tightness. He leaned forward, squeezing his eyes shut and concentrating in a bid to keep still until Spock’s muscles relaxed, and was unprepared for the sudden, insistent buck of his mate’s hips. He grunted, thrusting strongly into the heat, feeling his mate’s hardened cock pressed between their bodies, and sensed Spock’s fingers brush his meld points. Expecting the deep connection, he slowed his rhythm slightly in bewilderment as he felt his mate’s hand drop away instead. He started to lift his head, and then was overwhelmed by an intense throb of pleasure through the strangely expanded bond-space as his mate abruptly climaxed. Spock’s release triggered his own, and he helplessly thrust his hips sharply once and then again as he emptied himself into his mate’s body, colors bursting through his mind and along the bond as he came.

     Gasping, he slowly pulled out, moving to lie next to the Vulcan, and was startled by lingering, desperate need continuing to stream through their bond. Looking over, he saw that his mate’s erection was undiminished, and Spock made a soft noise, his hand moving to encircle his own penis in an uncertain grip. Jim hesitated only an instant before batting his mate’s hand away and stroking him once, twice, before Spock’s breath caught and hot semen pulsed over Jim’s hand, pleasure filling their bondspace again and making Jim’s over-stimulated body twitch in response.

     They lay still for a moment, the need gone and the pleasure still dissipating, but a sense of frustrating incompletion hovering over their minds. Jim’s brow was furrowed in puzzlement as he swung his legs out of bed and walked somewhat shakily to the bathroom to fetch a towel. When he returned, Spock was unmoving, but his eyes were open. Jim sat next to him and gently ran the warm, damp towel over the sticky mess on his mate’s stomach.

     “Why didn’t you meld us?” He tried to keep his voice light, but knew his worried confusion was transmitting all too clearly across their connection.

     “I sensed that if I did so I would lose myself.” The Vulcan’s tone was matter-of-fact, but Jim stiffened. Spock had spoken similar words in the wake of the mind-control device incident orchestrated by Hamilton, when his _katra_ threatened to come unraveled at his bondmate’s mere touch.

     “Is it... ?” Jim let his voice trail away, knowing Spock would sense his thoughts.

     “No.” Dark eyes focused somewhere on the ceiling. “It is different. It is a loss of control.”

     Jim let the towel drop to the floor and grasped Spock’s closest hand, entwining their fingers. “But we’ve lost control before, right? When we meld when we’re... .” He gestured broadly to the bed. “Sometimes I can’t tell where you end and I begin. I can feel everything that we are; all of it coming together and I lose myself, at least. What’s changed?”

     Now Spock turned his head to meet Jim’s eyes. “Our _katra_ are drawn to each other, but, perceptions aside, they do not fully merge. Yet. This...disturbance...is a loss of control in all ways. It is unsettling... .” His voice trailed off as his fingers tightened on Jim’s and the captain noticed his mate’s eyes drift to the side, sensed a sudden flood of rapid-fire thoughts through the bond.

     “What is it?” He could feel a burst of emotions rush forward, could sense an instinctive, futile attempt at repression, _realization, fear, anger, guilt_. “Spock? What?”

     Brown eyes focused on blue, and Spock swallowed. “ _Pon farr_ , Jim.”

     Jim couldn’t help the shock that swept through him, followed by an impulse to slap himself on the forehead. “Oh, fuck. _Fuck_.”

     An eyebrow rose. “Your choice of word is quite pertinent.”

     Jim released Spock’s hand to run both of his nervously through his own hair and back down across his face. “Well, I have to say that your timing’s totally shitty. How long until... ?”

     “I do not know, Jim. I have not experienced this before.”

     “Right.” Jim let out a strong exhalation. “We gotta see Bones. And M’Benga. And hope this all doesn’t go down on the bridge in the middle of a firefight.”

     Spock bit his lower lip and Jim sent half-hearted reassurance through the bond, letting out a sarcastic chuckle. “Though in that case I’d get to fulfill my fantasy of breaking in the command chair!”

     The Vulcan pushed himself up to a sitting position on the bed, back ridiculously straight. “I find that your humor in this case leaves much to be desired.”

     Jim shook his head. “I warned you about the illogical human stuff.” He reached out and slapped his friend on the shoulder before jumping up. “It’s not some incurable condition or the bond being damaged or evil aliens slowly taking over your brain. I consider that a win.”

     “Jim... .”

     The captain was halfway to the bathroom. “It’s a win, Spock! Get dressed, we’re going to sickbay.”

 

 


	8. When You Play With Fire...

Chapter Eight: When You Play With Fire...

 

 

     A half-hour later, the command team sat in McCoy’s office across the desk from the CMO. M’Benga stood next to the closed door, looking somewhat defensive. Jim noted, with carefully concealed surprise, that, instead of being directed at Spock, as was typical, McCoy’s ire was now focused solely on his colleague. The captain wondered just what had transpired between his friends in that chamber on Phi Tertia A III.

     “We should have picked up on this, Geoff. For fuck’s sake, it seems all too obvious now.”

     “I disagree, Doctor. This situation is unique. We are dealing with an approaching first _pon farr_ in a hybrid individual who shares a consummated _t’hy’la_ bond with a human. Furthermore, said individual has been subjected to high levels of abnormal telepathic stress over the past year, and indeed, even before that with the loss of Vulcan.”

     Bones slapped his desk. “Said individual has a name. And is the first officer on this tub and under our care. We should have caught this.”

     “The symptoms of an approaching Time vary widely among individuals, and can be very slow-building, particularly if the individuals involved have already completed their bond.”

     McCoy rolled his eyes expansively, but M’Benga continued, “Mr. Spock’s physical examinations have yet to show definitive indicators, and the mental warning signs may have been attributable to the frankly high number of serious psionic injuries he has sustained in the line of duty.”

     The CMO glanced at Spock. “You need to stop melding with everything.”

     M’Benga ignored the flippant aside. “Interestingly, it appears, in hindsight, that the captain may be exhibiting some of the expected physical symptoms while Mr. Spock seems to be showing the psi indications. However, as far as I know, there is no research on the specific effects of _pon farr_ within a _t’hy’la_ bond.”

     Bones leaned his head back. “Meaning you don’t know what the fuck to expect.”

     M’Benga’s jaw tightened. “It is true that it is unknown exactly how this will proceed, but conventional markers suggest that the _plak tow_ may still be weeks away.”

     “But you’re not sure. It could be tomorrow. And in the meantime they’re both going to what, slowly lose their minds?”

     Jim suddenly stood up, raising his hands. “Hey! Nobody’s losing his mind yet. And I don’t know about you, but I actually feel better already; this is a known quantity. Mostly.”

     Spock’s voice came from behind him, “I am forced to agree with the captain. Perhaps it is a human reaction, but the discovery of the identity of the disturbance is gratifying.”

     There was a loaded silence, and McCoy leaned forward in his chair. “Well, I guess we can all agree on that then. Geoff, what do you suggest we do from here?”

     M’Benga straightened and took a breath. “I would recommend weekly scans until the physical effects begin to manifest themselves in Commander Spock, and then daily checkups.” He paused. “And conventional wisdom suggests that both of you spend as much time together as possible; which may act to prevent the symptoms from becoming suddenly acute.”

     Jim nodded. “So I wasn’t imagining things when I felt like shit when the bond was blocked.”

     “Indeed, Captain.”

     Jim met M’Benga’s dark eyes and crossed his arms. “Alright. Bones, let’s set up the scans.”

     McCoy nodded, and he and M’Benga exchanged a look before the specialist turned and left the office. Jim turned slightly to his first officer and Spock stood up, preparing to leave as well, when the CMO’s gruff drawl stopped them both. “Jim, I want to have a word with you. Alone.”

     The captain felt himself grow strangely defensive. “Anything you say to me can be said in front of Spock.”

     But he felt the soft brush of his mate’s hand against his. “It is alright, _ashayam_. I shall take my leave.”

     Jim stared in disbelief as his bondmate left the office and then turned to the doctor, eyes narrowing. “Okay. You didn’t yell at Spock once and he never calls me that in front of anyone. What the fuck happened between you two in that meld?”

     McCoy grunted. “Enough happened. That’s all you need to know.”

     Jim opened his mouth and the doctor stood up suddenly, shaking his head. “Seriously, Jim. You should ask him about it, not me.” He leaned forward, placing both hands on the desk, his gaze intense. “I need to talk to you about this _pon farr_ business. A few months ago I pulled some strings and made some frankly uncomfortable calls and found out a whole two paragraphs worth of information. Now I know you said you talked to Spock about it, but I’m guessing he didn’t give you much more to go on than what I’ve got.”

     Jim scratched his head, coloring slightly. “What makes you think that?”

     McCoy straightened, throwing his hands out to the side. “Uh, well, just that the Vulcans have a ridiculously tight code of silence; so much so that they don’t even tell their own people what the fuck is going on. Like, when Spock knew enough to bond you two, but didn’t know what to expect after that.”

     Jim made a face and the doctor continued, “Now, we do have M’Benga, and he knows what to look for from the standpoint of expected symptoms, but he pretty much told me that, as an outworlder, he's ignorant as to what really happens during the fever.” McCoy raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “I mean, apart from the purported marathon of fucking and the inference that the afflicted Vulcan loses his ability to control.”

     Jim shrugged. “Yeah, like I said before, Spock mentioned the losing control aspect. I guess we can figure the rest out.” He gave a weak chuckle that faded as the doctor’s gaze hardened.

     “Jim, he’s a lot stronger then you, and he’ll be out of his head. M’Benga says there have been instances where someone gets hurt.”

     The captain shook his head. “Spock won’t hurt me.” He willed Bones not to bring up Jim being choked across the helm console.

     But McCoy nodded carefully. “I don’t think he would either, Jim, but I want to make sure you know this is serious.”

     Jim’s eyes widened. “You don’t think I’m taking this seriously?”

     McCoy shrugged defensively, but the captain stepped forward. “Bones, while we were dealing with Kliperik, I thought something was wrong. And then that severed link happened and I fucking knew something was wrong. He’s suddenly smiling and his emotions are haywire and I’ve been feeling like I’ve had ten cups of coffee all at once. And then it looks like we’ve got an interstellar conflict brewing and I started to worry about our command fitness. So, yeah, we’ve found an answer and it’s not the end of the world,” he raised his eyebrows, “where we’ve all been before, by the way. This is just fucking biology. Literally.” Jim paused for breath. “So I’m going to keep it in perspective. Do you understand?”

     There was a long silence before McCoy offered a small smile. “Sure, Jim. I understand.” He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. “I had to say it, though.”

     “I know, Bones.” Jim threw his friend a half-smile in return. “I hear you.”

     They looked at each other in a companionable silence for a moment and the captain clapped his hands together. “Okay, well, I’m going to go find Spock and get him to rest. Crazy Vulcan’s been going for three days straight.”

     Bones’ smile widened into a grin. “Hell, Jim, you just made me feel a whole lot better about this damn situation. Nice to know I’m rubbing off on you.”

     Jim made an exasperated noise and shook his head, striding to the door and exiting, hearing McCoy’s chuckle following him out.

 

 

 

     The _Enterprise_ decelerated sharply into a standard orbit around Epsilon Canelis II, matching speed and trajectory directly behind the _Arredondo_. Next to the formidable battleship, in a tighter orbital radius, glided the science vessel _Yonath_.

     “Standard orbit achieved, sir. Matching course and following at two-thousand meters.”

     “Very good, Mr. Sulu. Lieutenant Uhura, please open hailing frequencies.” Jim shifted in the command chair, pushing down feelings of irrational uneasiness at the sight of the _Arredondo_ looming again in their viewscreen. The battleship was an uncomfortable reminder of Hamilton’s rampage and the near-destruction of the _Enterprise_ just months earlier.

     “Sir, I have the _Arredondo_ ; Captain Brisker on the line.”

     “Put her through, Uhura.”

     With Nyota’s acknowledgment, the viewscreen wavered and Tanith Brisker appeared, leaning forward in the center seat with a smile on her face. Brisker had graduated from the Academy a few years before Jim, and was one of the few cadets who had attempted the _Kobayashi Maru_ twice. She had been on an extended medical leave on Earth following injuries sustained during a skirmish with the Klingons before being handpicked by Admiral Fitzpatrick to succeed to the captaincy of the _Arredondo_. Jim had never met her before, but had heard a lot about her, particularly the commonly held assessment that she, and he, were cut from the same cloth.

     “Captain Kirk, welcome back to friendly space. Hell of a discovery you made.”

     Jim smiled back. “Captain Brisker. Glad to be back in the neighborhood. How’re things going down on the surface?”

     Brisker’s face shifted, her dark brown eyes becoming serious. “As Fitzpatrick probably relayed, we located the potential outpost less than forty-eight hours ago. We never would have found it if it weren’t for the new tuning protocols for the sensors that you sent.” She took a breath and punched in a sequence on the arm of her chair. An overlay flew up next to her image on the _Enterprise’s_ viewscreen, showing a map and a highlighted region near the planet’s equator. “It looks like a large, enclosed series of chambers located about five-hundred meters below the surface, here. We’ve constructed a workable access tunnel with full lock-down protocols, but we haven’t sent anyone in yet as per your instructions.”

     Jim nodded. “There may be some unique and sophisticated defense systems still active. Anything else you were able to determine remotely?”

     She cocked her head, auburn ponytail swinging behind her. “The science team from the _Yonath_ has a full report, but I know that we’re picking up some very faint, intermittent energy readings. Tactically, we haven’t found anything that resembles a weapons cache or launching mechanisms. There aren’t any other readings of that particular material elsewhere on this planet, and indeed in this entire sector. And no indications that this site has been disturbed in the recent past.”

     “So the _Ren shat’var_ haven’t been here.”

     “Not that we can tell.” She shifted, leaning on elbow on the arm of her chair. “We’ve got everything set up at base camp down there, Captain. Feel like taking a look?”

     Jim grinned. “Absolutely. I’ll beam down with my science and engineering teams.”

     She grinned back. “I’ll meet you there. Brisker out.”

 

 

 

     The tingle of materialization faded and Jim felt himself immediately break into a sweat. In front of him, about an acre of rain forest had been cleared and a number of supply and personnel tents surrounded the periphery. At the center of the clearing was the access tunnel, protected by an airlock, and all around him blue- and red-shirted Starfleet officers bustled.

     “Captain Kirk.” Brisker walked swiftly towards him from a short distance away, her dark gray tactical uniform a measured contrast to the others. She was tall and slender, and her handshake was firm, her eyes measuring.

     “Captain Brisker.” Jim returned her grip and then gestured behind him. “This is my First Officer, Commander Spock, linguistics specialist Lieutenant Uhura, CMO Leonard McCoy, and Chief Engineer, Lieutenant Commander Scott. The rest of my personnel will be beaming down shortly.”

     Brisker nodded to each in turn and turned her gaze back to Jim. “Your people can head over to the main tent for briefing. Given the circumstances, I think we should crack this thing open as soon as possible.” She paused and wiped sweat from her brow with the knuckles of her left hand. “And I’d like to have a word with you, Captain, if you wouldn’t mind.”

     Jim raised an eyebrow, but turned to his team. “Mr. Spock, please make sure everyone finds his or her way over to the briefing. I’ll be there shortly.” _She’s right that we have to go in soon, but I don’t want a repeat of last time._

     “Yes, sir.” _I shall ensure the briefing is comprehensive._

     Jim nodded sharply and glanced at Brisker, following her back across the clearing towards a smaller tent. In the almost three days since the revelation of Spock’s approaching _pon farr_ , they had tried to spend as much time as possible in each other’s company. Unfortunately, with the ship racing into a dangerous situation, that had not been much. Jim’s underlying nervous tension had not waned, though he was more accepting of it, having determined the cause. The bond had become suffused with a strange heated sensation that hovered in the background, and Jim had noticed that his bondmate’s emotions themselves had become heightened, more intense, and more difficult to control, as bespoke by Spock’s increasingly abrupt and repetitive attempts at repression. Outwardly, his first officer’s behavior was largely unchanged, except for his willingness to touch Jim while they were in private. And Jim could feel the bond having widened somewhat, so that he was more aware of his bondmate’s presence than before.

     Now, Jim spared a glance back at his crewmembers as he entered the tent after Brisker, feeling Spock’s focus on his duties. As a telepath who held previous experience with the _Eren’gha_ material, Spock would be the one to enter the chamber alone, and Jim was already steeling himself for the temporary shielding of their bond, knowing that it would be more difficult this time for them both.

     In front of him, Brisker waved him to a seat, and Jim sank into it, body relaxing slightly in the relative coolness of the tent. She sat down across from him and peered at him closely. “So, I heard your speech.”

     “What?” Jim furrowed his brow. “What speech was that?”

     “The one to the Federation Council about six months ago. Starfleet recently released it as part of their PR campaign to clean up their image and to reinforce the public’s good opinion after the RSV invasion of Klingon space. No one knew if they would be headed for us next, and the Council wanted to demonstrate that things were in hand. You’re the golden boy, once again.”

     Jim made a face. “Great.”

     She smiled. “Fitzpatrick was happy to let them do it, as long as they paid attention to your recommendations as to restructuring the Fleet. And they are, by the way. They might even give you some of the credit.”

     Jim shook his head. “The last I heard about it was that they were tabling any meaningful discussion while the _Ren shat’var_ threat was assessed. Then, we were out on the frontier, and no one’s asked for my opinion since.”

     “Well, they assessed the threat, and when nothing happened for months, they decided to go ahead and proceed with the recommendations in hand. Which basically meant those couple weeks of meetings you sat in on before heading out into the black.”

     Jim rubbed his hands over his face. “Shit.”

     She grinned. “Well, I’m pretty fucking pleased with it. The Constitution-class starships will remain on the frontier, doing what they do best. The science vessels will follow, as needed, doing the detail work, and the Destroyer-class battleships will take the lead within friendly space and along the neutral zones. We’ll maintain the peace and the defensive sphere while you push the envelope. Those smaller-class, primarily military-purposed ships will be steadily decommissioned so there’s no rogue weaponry flying around looking for trouble and the Academy can go back to focusing on turning out high-caliber well-rounded recruits instead of fast-tracking security and tactics automatons with no ability to think their way out of a box. Plus, fewer military contracts will mean cleaner military contracts and there’s less chance for any one person to get greedy.”

     She leaned forward. “And my favorite part is that Command will be streamlined. About a third of the admiralty found themselves with a new job title.” She smirked. “So, less paperwork.”

     Jim pursed his lips and rubbed his chin. “Let’s hope it passes this first big test.”

     She nodded gravely. “I hear that. I assume you got the latest communiqué from Fitzpatrick.” At Jim’s nod, she tilted her head. “We’ve got confirmation from the ships still stationed along the neutral zone that it is one single, unidentified vessel responsible for the ongoing explosions on those planets.” She met Jim’s eyes. “Weapons testing.”

     “From what we encountered outbound of Federation space, the weapon might be able to level the populated surface of a planet.”

     Her brown eyes grew distant for a moment. “So, from your reports thus far, and from what we’ve seen, let me summarize. I want to know if we’re on the same page here.”

     Jim crossed his legs and leaned back and she continued, “About six months ago, the RSV invaded Klingon space, and the Klingons fled before them like they were riding from the gates of hell. I remember we were all wondering what the fuck was going on because, from our understanding, the RSV were limited to whatever vessels they could steal. Now, it seems obvious that they also had a big fucking ship with them with enough firepower to make their position undeniable. A ship that they swiped from a long-dead planet and scavenged to obtain all their fancy high-tech equipment. A ship that is practically invisible unless you tune your sensors correctly, and who know what the fuck else it has by way of unexpected toys.”

     Brisker took a breath. “And all of a sudden, this ship begins firing some incredible new weapon at planets within their new sector, right about the same time that the RSV start participating in maneuvers right on the neutral zone, and then they apparently try an attack on their own supership.” She narrowed her eyes. “And this coincides with a broken mind-link that your first officer reported.”

     Jim nodded carefully. “Yes. We believe that the RSV invaded that particular sector deliberately. That they were looking for something. The entire _Eren’gha_ culture appears to have included telepathic manipulation and control of advanced computer systems and materials. We speculate that a presence of some sort, remaining from that ancient society, took over the mind of one of the RSV leaders, and they lost control of the supership.”

     She ran a hand over her ponytail. “And now we think this...presence might be gunning for the Federation next, once he or she has the weapon squared away.”

     “Yeah, and we’ve got to find out exactly what we’re dealing with, so this seemed the best place to look.”

     “Right.” Brisker suddenly smiled and stood up. “Well that seems completely fucked up, Jim. But it confirms a hypothesis I have about you.”

     Jim stood up as well. “What’s that?”

     She shrugged and started for the entrance to the tent. “That wherever you are is where the action is. And that’s where I want to be.” She paused in the entrance and crossed her arms over her chest. “So, let’s go open up this bad boy and see what kind of monster crawls out.”

     Jim chuckled and followed her through the tent flaps and out towards the main enclosure. In front of the main tent, Jim saw the tall form of his bondmate standing with his hands clasped calmly behind his back. The captain quickened his steps to keep up with Brisker, and was twenty feet from Spock when a wave of sudden alarm rocketed through the bond. _Jim! Down!_

     Jim’s body responded faster than his mind processed the words, and he hit the dirt as an energy bolt screamed over his head. He rolled and twisted, his phaser in his hand, but Spock was already firing. Jim saw a young woman in science blue standing a dozen meters away, saw her outstretched weapon go flying from her hand with Spock’s precision shot, saw her eyes fill with anger, and then determination as the Vulcan sprinted towards her. She turned almost inhumanly fast and raced towards the rain forest, Spock on her heels. Jim pushed himself to his feet and ran after them, phaser in hand, and Brisker following, yelling to the security detail standing next to the access tunnel.

     The bond had roared open in Jim’s mind, filled with the burning rage pouring from his mate. Jim barely had time to think before he saw Spock lunge, taking the fleeing assailant down by her waist. Both hit the ground hard and rolled, the woman slipping out of Spock’s grip to flip herself upright. Spock followed less than an instant later and there was barely time to blink before there was a lightning fast series of powerful blows, both bodies moving at alien speed. Jim skidded to a stop, the bond pounding in his head, and motioned for the others to halt. They couldn’t get a clear shot, but in another two seconds it didn’t matter, as Spock ducked under a kick and landed two rapid-fire blows, moving in and sweeping the woman’s legs out from under her. The dust settled with the woman lying facedown in the dirt, Spock behind her, a knee on her back and both hands holding a deadly looking position on her neck. She was still conscious, and hissed something that Jim couldn’t hear. Spock’s eyes narrowed and the bond-space became a boiling blur, his hands tightening almost imperceptibly before Jim found his voice. “Stand down, Commander!”

     There was a terrifying pause and then Spock blinked rapidly and stood, removing his hands and stepping away in one smooth motion, his eyes wild. He looked...dangerous, but Jim deliberately ignored him, focusing on the woman who was rising slowly to her feet, hands slightly raised, a decidedly undefeated look on her face even with several phasers leveled at her head. She appeared human, except for the fact that no human could have taken that kind of a beating and maintained any semblance of smugness.

     “Who are you?” Jim asked, his voice harsh.

     “I am vengeance.” She spoke with a hint of an accent, and her gray eyes looked strangely familiar. “I am here for you, James Kirk. For what you represent, and the terrible price of what he tried to do.”

     “He?” Jim had that bad feeling running down his spine.

     She straightened and spat blood onto the ground. “Siforit. My brother.”

     Jim’s eyes widened, and his gaze drifted down to where the blood had splattered. It was green.

 

 


	9. Blood And Honor

Chapter Nine: Blood and Honor

 

 

     The woman sat stoically in a detention cell aboard the _Enterprise_ , the barrier opaqued and distorted so that she could be observed, but would not be able to see or hear outside the cell. She still wore her dusty uniform, and her sleek black hair was pulled back into a hasty single braid. Jim had beamed back up to the ship with McCoy and the prisoner, leaving Spock in command of _Enterprise_ personnel on the surface.

     The bond had calmed shortly after Spock had removed himself from the prisoner, and the half-Vulcan’s fierce expression and fiercer mind had been forcibly subdued under relentless mental discipline. The bond-space still felt heated, however, the burn ever more insistent. Jim had stepped aside to speak privately with his bondmate before transporting up, guiding him away from the others with a firm grip on his arm. Brisker had followed them with her eyes, her expression openly curious.

     “What happened back there?” Jim had murmured. “Are you alright?”

     “I am functional, Captain.” _I sensed her intentions immediately before she fired. My reaction was instinctive._

     “You deliberately aimed for her weapon. You could have just stunned her.”

     “I wished to disarm her, in case the stunning beam was ineffective against her physiology, sir.” _She would have killed you, Jim._

     Jim had felt his bondmate’s suddenly strong longing for his touch, for his mind, for an irrational assurance that he was unharmed. Spock’s face had remained unchanged, but a plea lingered in his expressive eyes. With a sigh, Jim had concentrated on their mental connection, reaching out for his mate’s mind and, pushing aside the worry and anxiety that plagued his own thoughts, focused on his deeper feelings of love and a matching sense of longing.

     He could tell that his effort had an effect by the way Spock’s posture relaxed minutely, and his mind had reached back for Jim’s with comforting, and now more tranquil, warmth.

     “I’m heading up to interrogate the prisoner. I want to see what she knows before I send you into that chamber. You’ve got command of our people.” Jim had shifted on his feet, catching Brisker’s continued scrutiny over his first officer’s shoulder. _It’s getting worse faster than we expected, isn’t it._

     “Affirmative, Captain.” _It is as yet manageable._

Jim had nodded and reached out to quickly grasp Spock’s shoulder, wishing he could do more.  _Yeah, as long as no one tries to kill me, right?_

     Spock had inclined his head.  _I find it most difficult to maintain control in that circumstance, t’hy’la, as ever._

     Now standing in the brig, Jim rocked back and forth on his toes, his hands clasped restlessly behind him. McCoy eyed him speculatively. “Feeling alright, Jim?”

     “Sure, Bones.” Jim jerked his chin dismissively. “So, let’s have it. Is she... ?”

     “Vulcan?” McCoy interrupted. “Yep, her blood’s as green as they come. She had some pretty fancy plastic surgery on those ears, cosmetic alteration to her eyebrows, and dermal coloration. Her file lists her as Doctor Annette Sullivan, a physicist newly assigned to the _Yonath_ for this mission. No shipboard medical exam yet, I’m guessing.”

     Jim chewed his lip. “Command’s still wondering how the _Ren shat’var_ infiltrated our ranks to turn Starfleet officers. I bet she knows.”

     McCoy lowered his voice, moving closer to the captain. “And how are you going to get her to talk, Jim? Spock’s in no shape to perform a forcible meld, especially if we’re about to send him into that chamber.” He inhaled sharply, straightening his back. “Which I still feel is a big fucking mistake, by the way.”

     “Feeling can’t have anything to do with it, Bones. He has to go because he’s best qualified.”

     “Jim... .”

     But the captain turned sharply to face his friend fully. “Do you think I want him going in there? It’s his duty, Bones. And mine.” He shook his head, glancing back at the security officer at the central console. “Maybe I can get her to talk anyway. She seemed to be open enough about her connection to Siforit.”

     Bones sighed and stepped back, raising an eyebrow. “Well, kid, you do seem to have a knack for dealing with stubborn Vulcans.”

     Jim shot him a dangerous look, but stepped over to key in the sequence to clear the barrier for two-way communication. The Vulcan’s eyes fastened immediately on him, and she tilted her head. “Despite my brother’s high opinion of you and your personal list of exploits, I must confess that I still expected to encounter a weakling Terran. I am pleased that I may have been wrong.”

     Jim felt McCoy’s surprised glance beside him, but he did not break eye contact with the woman. “Does Siforit’s sister have a name? Not Annette Sullivan.”

     She chuckled. “No.” With a smooth motion, she stood and stepped forward to stand inches from the barrier. With her subtly powerful grace and intensity, Jim wondered how she could ever have been taken as human. Her hands hung at her sides, and she flexed them slightly. “My name is Karik.”

     “And why did you want to kill me? You believe I’m responsible for what happened to your brother?”

     “You are responsible. He would not have acted so precipitously if it were not for your example.”

     Jim furrowed his brow. “Example of what?”

     Karik abruptly turned to the side, taking two steps before glancing back, her eyes narrowed. “Your mate is a Vulcan male. I am impressed.”

     McCoy made a choked noise next to him, but Jim shrugged casually. “I thought the _Ren shat’var_ considered Vulcans to be weak. Beneath your notice.”

     She raised her chin. “Their society may have turned to pacifism and to a delusional focus on conformity, but he still has three times your strength, Captain, and could rip your mind from you with little effort. That alone says you enjoy a challenge.” She snorted delicately. “Besides, from what I have seen, he is not as other Vulcans.”

     Jim’s eyes grew flinty. “We are _t’hy’la_.”

     “So I have heard.” Her expression hardened to match his. “And that is why I came for you.”

     Jim suddenly smashed his fist against the barrier. “Enough of the bullshit. We’re running out of time, and I need to know if the situation with your people is as out of control as it appears to be. We know that Siforit’s mind was taken over by something immensely powerful. We know you found it in that ancient _Eren’gha_ outpost. So, do we have anything to discuss or should I just leave you here to wax poetic to yourself?”

     Karik didn’t flinch, but the muscles around her left eye twitched. Her voice lowered into a hiss. “We sought the _Eren’gha_ as our ancient brethren. They were strong, and were conquerors, and shared our warrior ideals. We believed that our discovery of their homeworld was destined. A way to usher in our conquest: technology and a ship that no one could stand against. But there were aspects of that ship and their culture that we could not divine, despite our telepathic talents. And so we searched for those who remained, a vanguard of advance warriors. We believed the answers that eluded us were there.”

     Jim stepped forward, meeting her severe gaze. “But you found something else. What?”

     She blinked. “We found more then answers; we found the essence of their beings. Even as the ship approached the long-dead outpost, we saw its response to what was still there, hidden for millennia.”

     “And then?” Jim felt McCoy’s figure tense behind him.

     “Most of us wished simply to observe, to keep what advantage we had already, and to eschew the unknown. Too much was at stake and too much was left to chance. Entire systems on that ship, until then inexplicably latent, were becoming active, yet still outside our control. Weaponry of unthinkable energies. Our leadership balked; however, Siforit was an idealist. He argued that by mentally linking with the essences left behind, he could lead us into our long-awaited age of empire. He wished for a true connection, a mental link. A way to bridge both cultures and resolve any respective weaknesses into a wholly perfect union.”

     Jim was silent, his face suddenly pale, remembering the gray-eyed leader. In their last conversation, Siforit had spoken of building empires. And before that, when they had spoken after Siforit had saved his life, and Spock’s, he recalled Siforit’s then-cryptic words: _I sensed the possibilities in the intimate joining of two such different beings. Constructive interference; a shared potential that overcomes the frailties of each of your cultures...I had not realized that this might be the consequence of such a connection. You and Spock represent a stronger path; your bond represents a new way forward. You will see._

     At Jim’s continued reserve, Karik’s eyes blazed, and she pointed at him. “Do you not understand? He knew of your bond and he envied it. You inspired his folly. You and your not-quite-Vulcan mate.” She practically spat the words, her expression contorted. “And now Siforit is gone, and another in his place. One who will complete our dream of conquest, but not in our name and not in our way. One who now has access to the full power of our captured ship.”

     The captain turned his back on her suddenly, and heard her voice come low and guttural. “So you see, Captain. You have brought destruction down, not only on us, but on yourself and your Federation. This...thing will not stop until we are all destroyed.” She let out a sharp laugh. “You should have allowed your mate to kill me. It would have been an easy death. And an honorable one.”

     “There’s no such thing,” Jim murmured, and strode towards the brig exit, McCoy following quickly behind.

 

 

 

     Materializing back on the surface, Jim blinked in the bright glare of the sun and followed the warm presence of his bondmate towards the main tent. Pushing back the flap, he paused in the entryway, seeing Spock crouched down next to a portable sensor array, talking with a _Yonath_ science officer. The Vulcan looked up, and Jim jerked his chin. “Can I have a word with you, Mr. Spock?”

     “Certainly, Captain.” Spock stood gracefully. “I shall return shortly, Lieutenant. Please continue the modulation adjustments as recommended by Mr. Scott.”

     “Aye, Commander.” The science officer’s head bent back to his task as Spock walked towards the captain.

     Jim smiled at him as he held open the tent flap, motioning his first officer through. “How are things going?” The captain motioned again off to the side, away from the bustling chaos surrounding the main tent.

     Spock glanced at him, matching Jim’s strides. “The equipment is nearly ready, sir. I anticipate that we will be set for entry within the hour.”

     Jim stopped and lowered his voice. “I just finished an interesting chat with Siforit’s sister. She didn’t try to hide anything, it seemed, which worries me because I get the feeling she thinks we’re all fucked anyway.”

     Spock raised an eyebrow, which Jim ignored. “Also, she seemed a bit...off. Like all the pieces weren’t there or something. But she did allude to the _Ren shat’var_ finding the _Eren’gha_ essences, as she called them, somewhere in that captured sector. Apparently, there were latent systems on that ship, including the purported superweapon, which began to activate upon proximity to these essences. Siforit tried bonding with one of them, and his mind was taken over. She said that whatever overcame him is now in control of that ship, and the weapon, and is hell-bent on its own agenda.”

     Spock’s face was impassive, but Jim could sense the rapid pulse of his thoughts. “If she... ,” he began carefully.

     “Karik. Her name is Karik,” Jim interrupted.

     Spock inclined his head and continued, “If Karik is Siforit’s sister, then she would have possibly shared a mental link with him that would have been considerably stronger than the one that was severed between myself and her brother. Considering the gravity of the consequences of the abrupt and abnormal severing that I experienced, it is not unexpected that she may be suffering from a significant mental injury that could be affecting her judgment and reactions.”

     “So she is crazy.” Jim furrowed his brow.

     “I would utilize the term ‘unbalanced’. She would not have had access to a healer being embedded within Starfleet ranks as a spy.”

     The bond held a palpable background of sympathy, and Jim crossed his arms in front of him, wanting desperately to touch his bondmate, to acknowledge Spock’s deep understanding of having familial and societal links ripped suddenly and violently away. He winced as he sensed the Vulcan sharply repress the gentle emotion, feeling a burst of irritation and anger well up inside of himself.  _You have to stop doing that. It hurts me and I know it fucking hurts you._

     Spock’s expression hardened.  _I must, t’hy’la. To allow unfettered expression would be to invite a premature loss of control. Our mission... ._

 _Fuck the mission. And fuck this...waiting,_ Jim mentally blurted, and for a moment, the two officers stared at each other, blue eyes full of sudden, wild nervous energy meeting an intensity-deepened brown gaze. And then Jim felt the increasing struggle Spock was enduring: the longing for his mate and the drumbeat of dizzying heightened emotions, the scratch of Jim’s spiking energy against his mind, the background heat and the yawning pull towards a bottomless, unknowable abyss. Abruptly breaking eye contact and forcing deep breaths to calm himself, Jim felt relentless Vulcan control assert itself once again in his bondmate’s mind. The captain tightened his arms in front of him, still looking off to the side, and mumbled an apology, “I’m sorry.”

     There was a pause, and Spock stepped to the side, so that his back was turned towards the clearing, and held out his hand in the _ozh‘esta_. Jim reached back, and their fingers briefly touched. Jim felt his mate’s own apology in the warm electric sensation of the brush of skin, and exhaled. As his hand fell to his side, Jim shifted his stance, squaring his shoulders, his eyes betraying his lingering tension. “So, even if Karik’s certifiable, I still think we should pay attention to what she said.”

     “Agreed. And I have a hypothesis as to what I may encounter in the chamber.”

     Jim pressed his lips together, his expression suddenly fierce. “Be careful, Mr. Spock. That’s a fucking order.”

     Spock gazed at him, and a smile tilted his lips, causing Jim’s breath to catch. “I will, _t’hy’la_.”

 

 

 

     The silence in the main tent was deafening. Jim was standing in parade rest, back straight, his expression carefully controlled to hide the splitting headache and increasing sense of vertigo he was experiencing. The bond was shielded, completely, and he felt as if a limb had been taken away. Spock had entered the chamber, alone, seconds before, and the assembled teams were waiting for a signal.

     McCoy was hovering next to Jim’s side, and Brisker sat tightly in a chair next to the main operational console, her eyes sliding over the assembled officers.

     “I have uplink, sir; ma’am!” Lieutenant Dieter called excitedly. “Switching to speakers and live vid feed.”

     Spock’s calm monotone filled the tent and his head-mounted vid image brightened suddenly on the large screen on Dieter’s console. “Spock to base camp. I have successfully entered the complex. The intermittent energy signals have become continuous and have strengthened since my entry, coinciding with ambient illumination and a weak telepathic scan, similar to the previously encountered chamber. I have set my tricorder for flash transmission of sensor readings.” The vid image was showing a dimly lit chamber of modest size, with the walls covered by that same silvery material that the _Enterprise_ had encountered near Phi Tertia.

     Dieter pointed to the series of screens on his console. “Data’s coming through here.” A wash of rapidly scrolling data began tumbling by. Jim noticed Uhura at a secondary console, her posture tense. She met his eyes and he swallowed, giving her a hopefully reassuring nod. Her returned raised eyebrow told him that she knew he was full of shit. The adrenaline in his system was flowing powerfully, making his skin tingle. He roughly chewed the inside of his cheek, tasting blood. McCoy was surreptitiously taking readings next to him.

     Spock’s voice came again, “The complex appears to be in poor condition, with the majority of subchambers blocked by fallen debris. I am making my way to the largest chamber now.” Images of damaged and broken walls and passageways came through on the monitor, the elusivium walls cracked and crumbled, and the native rock tumbling across the floor.

     The data continued to pour in, and was distributed to the various workstations set up within the enclosure. Raised voices echoed across the tent:

     “The walls are made of the same material as the homeworld chamber-however, the energy signature is weaker.”

     “Maybe the physical damage is limiting energy transfer?”

     “No spike seen yet in power emanations. No interference field.”

     “Detail scans are showing most of the subchambers completely blocked off-no chance of getting in there even with remote equipment.”

     “Atmosphere’s stable, though. Some sort of recirculation must be present.”

     Spock’s voice overrode the chatter. “I have reached the main chamber. There is a similar statue here as was present in the central chamber on Phi Tertia A III. However, this one is intact.” There was a loaded silence, and then Jim could hear the touch of emotion in Spock’s voice. “This is a type of _katric_ ark, Captain. Empty, but with psionic resonance.” The vid feed was showing a large, pale sculpture, appearing as a ghost with its featureless head raised upwards, and a widened, cape-like shape extending from both sides. No arms or legs were discernable, or any sort of markings on the smooth surface. Beside Jim, McCoy shifted uncomfortably.

     Jim suddenly stepped forward, and Dieter leaned away to give him room. “Spock, could this be what we’re looking for?”

     “Indeed, Captain, I believe it is. If the spiritual embodiment of the _Eren’gha_ remained, then the act of touch by a telepath would facilitate communication and transmission on the level of a meld, similar to traditional Vulcan practices.” Spock paused. “Even as it stands empty now it is formidable. I can speculate that an active presence would be extremely difficult to defend against, which suggests that an attempted meld with a similar, active ark may have been what befell Siforit.”

     Jim exchanged a glance with Brisker. “Spock, is there anything else there? Like on the homeworld; a control center, anything like that?”

     “The energy readings are concentrated within the wall behind the statue. I am proceeding to examine the wall more closely now.” The images moved smoothly away from the statue to the wall behind it, which, on first glance, appeared as featureless as the surface of the statue.

     The silence over the speaker was palpable, and Jim drummed his fingers on his thigh impatiently as the monitor displayed a painstakingly slow appraisal of the silvery surface. When Spock’s voice returned it was all the captain could do to not jump. “Captain, this does not appear to be a control center, as we encountered previously, but it does seem to hold some significance. There is a slightly raised square area approximately twenty-five centimeters to a side immediately behind the statue; perhaps an interface of some kind.” He paused. “Permission to touch it, sir.”

     Alarm bells blared in Jim’s mind and Brisker straightened in her seat. “Stand by, Commander.”

     Jim stepped back from the panel and surveyed the officers around him. Predictably, McCoy was the first to speak up. “That’s a bad idea, Jim. Remember what happened the last time he touched one of those telepathic walls.”

     Brisker’s mouth quirked. “I’m pretty sure Mr. Spock remembers as well, Doctor, and he’s still willing to give it a try.” She looked up at Jim. “Captain, we need more information, and we’re running out of time. I’m in favor of proceeding.”

     Uhura spoke up from the nearby console. “The energy emanations are not nearly as powerful as the ones we encountered before, sir. In fact, the intermittent nature of them as well as the fact that this was an outpost suggests to me that this may be some kind of recorded message.”

     Jim crossed his arms and took a breath, addressing the comm, “Mr. Spock, have you sensed anything like the defensive grid back on Phi Tertia? An attempted mind-touch, anything?”

     “I sensed an initial touch, perhaps a type of scan, as I entered; however, nothing since. And my mental shields were sufficient to prevent the scan from psionic interaction. I would hypothesize that may not be possible for an unshielded mind.”

     The captain tensed. “Understood.” His voice was tight. “Proceed.”

     The entire group seemed to grow taut as Spock’s hand became visible on the monitor, reaching for the wall, and over the comm line Jim heard a muffled gasp from his first officer as he made contact. The area suddenly emitted a dull red glow and a low-pitched whir sounded. Dieter flinched and pointed to the vid feed, which had suddenly swung around to show a bright hologram projected several meters from where Spock was standing. The hologram was of a large humanoid figure, dressed in what appeared to be armor of a kind with a mask covering the upper half of its face. A large, almost reptilian mouth protruded below the mask, displaying fearsome teeth. Two powerfully built arms with four-fingered hands hung above another, smaller, set of arms on the creature’s sides. There was a glimmer of a large, muscular tail behind the specter’s form. After a pause, the creature began to speak. Its voice was low, hissing, and guttural, and punctuated by a series of grunts.

     Spock’s voice came over the comm at the same time, harsh and strained, halting, “We...have waited. No contact...from...our brothers and sisters. We...shall depart ourselves in the...absence...of a reply. To home...where the war...has begun. We will survive to fight again. For...blood...and...honor.” The hologram abruptly ended, melting back into the near-darkness.

     There were several seconds of stunned silence before Spock’s voice came over the line, sounding weaker than before, “Captain, as you have undoubtedly surmised, I have activated a message left by the builders of this outpost.”

     McCoy snorted, and Jim nodded. “So they left, without using the ark.”

     “Indeed, sir. The message was not limited to audio and visual, but also included a psi-component. I received images of the two outposts; warriors sent ahead as an advance scouting force for future conquest. They came in one ship, which evidently remained here until the contingent departed, as the message states, back home, where war had broken out. I surmise that the other outpost had fallen, or had failed to communicate in time, and, trapped there, the warriors eventually made use of the ark.”

     “Okay.” Jim deliberately loosened his arms, allowing them to fall at his sides. “I think that’s enough for now. Come on back up here.”

     “Yes, sir.”

     The captain stepped back and glanced around at the furiously working team, raising his voice slightly. “I want a full report as soon as possible.”

     A flurry of “Yes, sir.” rose around him and he met Brisker’s eyes. Her brow was furrowed and she had opened her mouth to speak when her communicator beeped. She flipped open her unit, turning away slightly.

     Jim felt McCoy’s hand on his arm and glanced over to notice the doctor’s questioning look. The captain shrugged and lightly rubbed his forehead, giving his friend a weak smile. His headache had gotten worse, and the nervous energy was making his skin crawl. He could feel Spock’s mental absence as a deep, physical ache. McCoy’s frown deepened, but Jim’s attention was suddenly drawn by Brisker’s muffled cursing.

     “What is it?” Jim peered at her as she flipped her communicator shut.

     “My comm officer just received a message from Command. The Federation Council’s declared a state of emergency. All active-engagement craft are to assume red alert and await further instructions.” Around her, all activity paused, and all officers’ eyes focused on her. She stared at Jim. “That mystery ship has just entered our space after having destroyed several RSV craft on the way. As of Fitzpatrick’s message, Starfleet patrol ships were moving to intercept.” She paused. “Preliminary projections show that the unidentified craft is on a course directly for Earth, Jim.”

     Jim felt a chill race down his spine and he swallowed. He could see excitement in Brisker’s eyes, and a touch of fear, and knew it was mirrored in his own.

 

 


	10. All That Stands Between It And Everything Else

Chapter Ten: All That Stands Between It And Everything Else

 

 

     The very air on the bridge seemed to vibrate with anticipatory tension. Jim sat alertly in the command chair, watching the blaze of star trails sweep along the main viewscreen. The claxons had been silenced, but red lights still flashed around the brightly lit bridge, confirming their continued state of emergency. Over the intercom, chatter from across the ship checked and re-checked systems readiness. They were fifteen minutes from the rendezvous with the other Starfleet vessels, on the way to confront the rogue ship now definitely on course for the heart of the Federation. Three patrol ships stationed near the neutral zone had moved to intercept the vessel as soon as it had breached Federation space and all three had vanished, presumed destroyed, the enemy ship itself unperturbed, their last transmissions relaying that the ship had dropped out of warp to engage them.

     Spock had unshielded the bond as soon as he had reached the surface from the chamber, and Jim had barely a moment to appreciate the sudden easing of his own headache before they were on their way back to the ship. The nervous energy had not dissipated, however, and the bond-space was suffused with a now-smoldering heat. Jim could sense his mate’s emotions with a strangely sharp clarity before they were repressed, and each repression served to aggravate his jumpiness even more. Whatever had happened within that chamber had made things worse, and there was a distinct sense of imminence that was vaguely terrifying, especially in the face of their current situation. It had taken all of Jim’s mental focus to push his discomfort out of his mind and focus on the task at hand.

     After they had materialized in the transporter room, Spock had left immediately for the bridge to supervise the emergency departure and Jim had headed directly for the brig at a jog. Karik had been waiting for him, a satisfied smirk on her face.

     “Your ship is in a state of emergency, and you have run all the way here. I take it the vessel is heading for your homeworld?”

     Annoyed, Jim had attempted to slow his breathing, fixing the spy with a flinty gaze. “I’m here for one reason; I want to know about the weapon.”

     She had chuckled and begun to pace back and forth in front of the transparent barrier. “It is an energy weapon that releases a fantastic charge, simulating a large impactor collision with a planet. The native population is killed, or largely so, and yet the natural mineral wealth remains.” Her gaze became slightly unfocused as she stared through the barrier. “The _Eren’gha_ were apparently consummate materials scientists with little regard for life. Very efficient.”

     Jim had shifted to force her to meet his eyes again. “What weaknesses does the ship have?”

     She had shaken her head. “We exploited the technology that was accessible to us to outfit our fleet: shields, weaponry, cloaking and communications technology. But all that was simple mimicry, taking what was obvious, building on what we could decipher as we re-fitted that ship after finding it. We knew nothing of what was hidden underneath.” She had turned partly away, clasping her hands behind her back. “Your Federation will fall.”

     Jim had forced himself to remain calm, hearing the mighty thrum of the engines roar to life in the background. They were going to warp. He had held his hands out suddenly. “Karik, I know that you are suffering from a broken bond. But if there’s a chance that we could still save your brother, we’ll need your help to do it.”

     She had remained silent, standing ferociously stiff, her face a mask. Jim had taken a breath to try again when she spoke, her voice little more than a murmur, “You cannot know what it was like. I knew what he was going to attempt, and I tried to stop him. I called for him again and again and he did not listen. And in the end, when the bond broke, it was not my mind he reached for, but your bondmate’s.” She had slowly turned back to face the captain, her gray eyes narrowed and her lips curled. “I could not help him. And I felt him lost. And with him, our people. Lost; even at the very cusp of our victory.”

     Her expression had been suddenly terrifyingly sad. “And if I help you, what will become of us? Will we be taken as criminals? Returned to our ancient brethren in disgrace and humiliation?”

     Jim had shaken his head. “If you help me, I can promise you your dignity and a forum in which to speak. We do not define ourselves as warriors, but we do believe in honor. Siforit knew that; it was the thing that we held between us, despite our differences.”

     Karik had stared at him for a moment, and a single tear fell from her gray eyes. “I will help you.” She bowed her head. “I can tell you that the ship’s hull is highly resistant to your phasers, but it is vulnerable to a phase-modulated deflector beam. The beam must be sustained, and of high energy, but it disrupts the fundamental structure of the material. If you allow me a PADD, I can trace a schematic of the ship and show its most vulnerable areas.” She had raised her head again and her eyes were dry, and calculating.

     Jim had felt a chill run down his spine at her expression. “Thank you.” She didn’t respond, her eyes never leaving his, and Jim had finally forced himself to turn away, moving over to the security officer at the main console to arrange for a PADD to be given to the prisoner. He had left for the bridge, refusing to look in her direction again, but he could feel her eyes on him, and the chill remained.

 

 

 

     “Ten minutes to rendezvous, Captain.” Jim blinked and nodded to himself as Uhura’s calm voice announced their status.

     “Thank you, Lieutenant. How many ships have confirmed?” He heard her hesitate before answering, “Four, sir, including us and the _Arredondo_.”

     Jim spun in his chair. “Four? That’s it?”

     Spock glanced at Uhura and then turned to look at Jim. “Sir, the _Chesapeake_ and the _Kusanagi_ are the only heavy cruiser-class ships within range. All other vessels have been recalled to fortify Earth defenses.”

     Jim’s eyes were hard. “We’ll make do, then. Any success with modifying the main deflector?”

     Spock turned to completely face his captain. “Mr. Scott has just achieved phase modulation, and my preliminary modeling indicate that the modulation frequencies currently available will be sufficient to disrupt the material, should it be the same as we encountered on the ship near Phi Tertia. However, the energy required will draw from all systems, including offensive capability and shields. The _Enterprise_ will be vulnerable if the modifications are enabled.”

     Jim glanced away, and then stood up, walking over to his first officer’s side and lowering his voice. “How much of a draw, Spock?”

     “Factoring in the conserved engine power required to keep the ship in a stationary configuration with the enemy, we will be functional at emergency levels on all systems, sir, including life support.”

     “And how much disruption will take place if that beam is enabled?”

     “Model simulations indicate that a targeted, sustained beam, on full power, and operating for one-hundred seconds may produce substantial structural weakening to the point of failure over an area of three square meters.” An eyebrow went up. “That is, assuming that the vessel does not have operable shields. Any shielding capability will reduce the effectiveness of the beam.”

     “Three square meters. That’s pretty tight.” _Only four ships for an advance intercept; they’re anticipating another Nero._

     “Indeed, sir.” _An evacuation order for Earth is being readied._

     Jim clasped his hands behind his back and took two steps away, glancing at the viewscreen, his mind racing. Turning back sharply, he met Spock’s steady gaze. “We’ll need to work in teams. Two ships: one to run interference and the other to keep a fixed position and enable the deflector. The first ship will then be in a position to fire precision shots once the hull is weakened.”

     Spock stood as well, mimicking Jim’s pose. “That strategy will require a preliminary bombardment to reduce shielding capability over the targeted areas, which must be chosen carefully.”

     “Five minutes, Captain.” Uhura’s voice cut in to Jim’s thoughts.

     “Right. Mr. Spock, have Scotty get his modification procedure for the deflector ready to transmit over to the other vessels and to Command.” He turned to Communications. “Lieutenant, I need a secure four-way comm line among all approaching ships.”

     His orders were acknowledged and with a final glance at Spock, Jim headed back down to his chair. His own energy was spiking, the upcoming confrontation and the increasing background heat in the bond making his heart pound. He could sense his bondmate’s intense focus and relentless control; raising their mental shields against each other would only make it worse, that much they knew. He clenched one hand into a fist against his leg, forcing his shoulders and his expression to relax in view of the crew.

     Uhura raised her voice. “Captain, I have the other three ships; setting for simultaneous feed.” She paused. “ Go ahead, sir.”

     Jim straightened in his chair, Captains Brisker, Lindstrom, and Montero suddenly coming into view on the main screen, their images superimposed over brightly colored warp space. Jim nodded sharply and relayed his plan as Scotty’s specs were transmitted. As he finished, he heard Sulu’s murmured warning, and the ship decelerated abruptly into normal space, the _Arredondo_ alongside it, with the two other cruisers appearing immediately thereafter.

     On-screen, Brisker licked her lips, her brow furrowed. “So, we’ll be assuming they’ll jump back into normal space once they detect the pursuit? This can’t possibly work if we’re forced to engage at warp.”

     Jim tilted his head. “It’s a big assumption, I know. But that’s what happened to our ships along the neutral zone. They pursued, and their last reports were of the supership coming out of warp to engage.”

     Lindstrom rubbed her chin. “We’re going to essentially be taking half our firepower off-line as soon as we have selective shield penetration in order to enable the deflectors. Why not just keep up with the full bombardment?”

     Behind Jim, Spock stood and stepped forward. “First Officer Spock here. The material that comprises the hull of the target vessel is extremely impermeable to phaser or photon torpedo attack, based on our analyses and on the information provided by the captured _Ren shat’var_ spy. Even if the shields fail, it will require significant, repeated hits by our conventional weaponry to cause hull rupture. Weakening the structure using the deflector modifications will produce more substantial results in less time.”

     Jim cut in, “Meaning, we won’t have our asses hanging out for longer than we need to.”

     “That’s good news,” Luis Montero said, his brows drawn together. “Whatever weaponry this thing has must be formidable, after what happened near the neutral zone.” He straightened in his chair, “I volunteer the _Kusanagi_ for the deflector position; my chief engineer worked with Mr. Scott on his previous assignment, and will probably be able to make quick work of the plans you sent.” He gestured to someone off-screen.

     Brisker nodded. “We’ll cover the _Enterprise_. Angelica, that means you’ve got the _Kusanagi_.”

     Lindstrom grunted. “I assume we’ve got some idea of where this supership’s vulnerable spots might be?”

     “Yes,” Jim said, leaning forward. “Our prisoner produced a rough schematic, pinpointing potential vulnerable areas. The ship is purportedly of similar design to the ones we encountered near the Phi Tertia system, and our detailed scans and partial interpretation of the _Eren’gha_ underground library indicate that the power centers agree with the prisoner’s information.”

     Lindstrom sat back in her chair. “Jim, even if the information seems to align, how do we know we can trust the prisoner? She tried to kill you, and may have been working against Federation interests for a while before this. What does helping us stand to gain her?”

     “The bottom line is that I don’t know for sure.” Jim’s words made worry cross over the faces of the other captains. “But I believe she has a good personal reason to defeat whatever it is that’s in control of the supership. And we’re the only vessels left to stand in its way.”

     There was a loaded silence, and then Montero nodded decisively. “It’s a plan, and we’re running out of time. Let’s move on it. Jim, send along that schematic and we’ll have our tactical people converse to draw up an attack plan on the way. This is going to have to be highly coordinated.” He glanced off-screen, and then looked back, his dark eyes intense. “In my opinion, the best place to attempt a confrontation is in Sector Eight-Five, just into Alpha quadrant; sending coordinates now. There’s little in the way of subspace interference or other anomalies, we’ll be far from inhabited systems, and, if we fail, Command will still have over twenty-four hours to prepare for a secondary intercept, assuming that thing is traveling at current speed.”

     Jim glanced over at Chekov, who looked up. “Sair, ve can achieve an advance configuration in eleven point three hours at varp six.”

     Jim nodded and looked back at the screen. “Confirmed. We’ll maintain formation on the way. Recommend warp factor six. Signal departure readiness to my helm officer. Kirk out.”

     The screen faded to the image of the other three vessels, floating in the darkness of space, nacelles proudly upswept, running lights gleaming. Sulu glanced at his board and nodded back at the captain. “All showing ready for warp, sir.”

     “Punch it.”

     The engines powered up and the starfield stretched across the view screen before the main drive snapped on and they were flung into the tunnel of warp space. Sulu called up a tactical overlay that showed the other ships had made the jump with the _Enterprise_ , and all were on a direct course to the interception point.

     Jim glanced over at Spock, who had returned to his console. “Mr. Spock, see that the schematic is sent to the battle group and arrange for a tactical conference as soon as possible.”

     “Yes, Captain.”

     Jim bit his thumbnail before catching himself and forcing his hands to his lap. The adrenaline had not abated, and he was starting to feel slightly light-headed. Despite Spock’s continued powerful control, or perhaps because of it, the bond was practically pulsing with what felt like frustration, and was growing hot and uncomfortable in Jim’s head.

     Spock’s voice startled him. “Captain. Our tactical specialists will be meeting in the main briefing room in one hour for a strategy meeting. We will be patching in the teams from the other ships in the group.”

     “Good.” Jim stood abruptly. “Mr. Sulu, you have the conn. Mr. Spock, you’re with me.” _We’re going to sickbay; we’ve got to get a handle on this thing._

     “Yes, sir.” Spock rose smoothly and followed him towards the turbolift. A surge of uncontrolled guilt and anxiety flared for an instant, and Jim’s head pounded with the forced repression. As the doors slid shut and he keyed in their destination, he let out a breath and turned to face his bondmate.

     “We’ve got to hold it together, Spock. Twelve more hours. After that, we’ve either won or we’re dust.” His voice was rough, and he could feel something like pressure in his veins.

     The Vulcan simply stared at him in silence, and Jim felt a confusing, overwhelming desire to lash out. The captain took a deliberate step back, and suddenly Spock moved forward, reaching to halt the lift. “No, Jim. Do it. It may help.”

     “I’m not going to fucking hit you.”

     “Do it.” His first officer’s words were a command, and something in them went right to the heart of Jim’s tension. His hand swung out almost before he realized it and impacted his bondmate’s jaw. He grunted with the effort, swung again, and then again, and suddenly his wrist was seized with inhuman force and he was pressed back against the wall of the lift, his mouth captured in a relentless kiss. He tasted coppery blood, and he moaned into Spock’s mouth, suddenly desperately aroused. He was aware of his mate’s lips being torn away, and his pants opened, his straining cock engulfed in wet heat. And he barely had time to moan again before he was coming, feeling Spock swallow around him, and he slumped back against the wall, gasping for air.

     He dimly felt Spock stand and move close to him, felt fingers on his face, and the sudden engulfment of a meld. And it was all there: the whirling emotions, the desperate mental need, the roiling heat. The intensity grew, and then retreated, and then, just as suddenly, it was gone, and Spock had stepped back. Jim took a deep breath, feeling the pressure gone, the tension reduced, the light-headedness fading. He could still feel his bondmate’s internal struggle, but it was not affecting him as strongly. Jim sensed that Spock’s brief, intimate mental connection with his mate was as helpful as the physical interaction had been for the captain. He licked his lips. “Thanks.” He fumbled at his pants, adjusting himself and fastening the closure, finally feeling steady enough to move away from the wall.

     Spock was standing with his hands clasped behind his back, a faint stain of greenish blood at the corner of his mouth. “As Doctor M’Benga hypothesized, you are indeed experiencing some of the physical symptoms of an approaching _pon farr_. I apologize, Jim.”

     Jim started the turbolift again and then reached forward, brushing the blood away from his mate’s lips. “I’m sorry I hit you.”

     “You are human, _t’hy’la_. Your body is contending with these symptoms in a different way than Vulcan physiology. I have experienced the human response wherein an episode of violence may result in some relief from overwhelming pressures, either physical or emotional.” He lowered his eyes. “Or, as I now understand, an episode of sexual release may accomplish the same.”

     Jim shook his head as the lift doors opened to sickbay, remembering his own demanding seduction after they departed Kliperik. He moved forward, glancing around the large, open space of the main ward.

     “Jim.” Turning, Jim saw Bones approaching from the supply area. The doctor’s hazel eyes flicked from Jim to Spock, and then he jerked his head in the direction of his office. “Let’s talk in there.” As the two officers fell into step behind him, Bones called out to one of the nearby nurses, “Reichert, page M’Benga for me, will you? Ask him to meet me in my office.”

     The nurse acknowledged his order and they reached the doctor’s office, Bones stepping aside and waving them in before walking in himself and palming the door shut. He turned and looked them both over again, his eyes narrowing as he studied Spock’s face. “Who the fuck hit you?”

     Jim colored, but Spock replied calmly, “It was necessary, Doctor.”

     A muscle in McCoy’s jaw tensed. “What happened?”

     Jim crossed his arms. “It looks like we’re headed into this faster than we thought. The bond feels different, and he’s having more trouble controlling.” Jim paused as the door buzzer sounded and McCoy keyed open the door to admit M’Benga. “Each time he represses his emotions, I feel it like a blow to the head, and I also feel like I’m buzzing with nervous energy. My heart’s pounding and I’m anxious.” He made a face. “I need to know if there’s anything we can do to keep this under control until we can deal with the upcoming situation.”

     McCoy’s expression was serious. “Jim, do you feel that you’re unfit for command? Or that Spock is?”

     “No!” Jim’s reply was adamant. “We’re performing fine.” He took a breath and lowered his voice. “I wouldn’t jeopardize the ship; we’re still okay. I just want to know if there’s anything you can do to keep it...I don’t know, tuned down?”

     The two doctors exchanged a glance and Bones nodded. “We’re going to run a quick physical and psych screen on both of you, just to certify command fitness.”

     At Jim’s glare, the doctor scowled. “It’s my goddamn job, Jim. We’re headed into a guaranteed clusterfuck, and I can’t have either of you less than ready. You know that.”

     The captain took one breath, and then another, and felt his bondmate reach out to him mentally, a disciplined calm spreading over the heated bond. Finally, Jim’s shoulders relaxed slightly and he blinked. “Okay, Bones. Go ahead.”

     McCoy nodded, his expression softening as well. “Sure Jim.” He waved them towards the door and back out to the main ward.

 

 

 

     Jim lay back on his bunk, one arm flung over his eyes. They were four hours from the intercept coordinates. McCoy had certified both him and Spock physically and psychologically fit, and had prescribed a conventional analgesic and a vasodilator to attempt to stem Jim’s symptoms.

     The tactical meeting had run for three hours, and the resulting attack strategy was packaged and sent to all ships’ helms for simulation runs. After another three hours of work, and a steadily increasing efficiency rating, Jim had ordered the alpha shift officers to stand down until they were within two hours of the intercept.

     Now, following his own orders, he was attempting to, if not sleep, then simply rest. He could feel Spock’s presence as a living thing along the bond; knowing without a doubt that his mate, having gone to the forward deflector control to supervise the final tests of the modifications there, was now on his way back to his cabin. The physical pressures were lessened, helped by the medication and by the brief time they had spent together, but Jim still felt a strong pull to his mate, still sensed Spock’s struggle, and the burning sensation held within their bond. By the time the door to their shared bathroom slid open and Spock stepped through, Jim was sitting fully up in his bunk, legs crossed in front of him.

     Spock moved directly to him, and their fingers touched in the _ozh’esta_. Jim looked into brown eyes, conscious that they were not only facing this personal trial, but also the distinct possibility that they would not even make it that far. The supership had destroyed every craft that it had encountered, as far as they knew .

     “Do you need to meditate?” Jim’s voice was soft, as he caressed his mate’s hand.

     “At any other time, I would respond in the affirmative. Now, however, I simply wish to feel your mind, _ashayam_.”

     Jim smiled gently and adjusted his hand, reaching to pull Spock closer to sit on the bed. He, too, felt a need for closeness, for that union they could only achieve in a deep meld. He entwined their fingers, moving his slowly against his mate’s. “I want to feel your body, too.” He felt none of the vicious tension of before, none of the need to escape, or to lash out, only a fundamental longing for what he knew they were, together. And he couldn’t escape the thought that this might be the last time.

     Spock joined them almost before their clothes had come off, and Jim’s perceptions came and went, in and out of their mental space.

_The lake was warmer than he’d ever felt it, and from what he could see of the sky above was red. The water was clear, but the pebbles disconcertingly shifted along the sandy bottom. He could feel energy present, a low thrum surrounding him. In Iowa, he would have thought a storm approaching._

 

     They moved together on the bed, naked skin to naked skin, human sweat slicking both their bodies. Jim was thrusting slowly, deliberately, feeling everything, everything together: Spock’s fingers on his face, heat and tightness surrounding him, and at the same time a hardness moving inside of him, hitting his sensitive spot, building pleasure that came from somewhere deeper than ever before.

_They were together, here, too, and the pebbles and sand had shifted away, revealing hardened rock beneath them. The water was growing hotter, and the sky above them was falling down._

 

     He was thrusting helplessly, now. Or he was arching his back, feeling his mate thrust into him. The bond had ceased to be; it had widened and spread out and now their minds were truly one, stretching out between them.

_Cracks appeared in the rock below them, and the water was hotter still. He saw brilliant light moving within the deep fissures._

 

     Their pleasure was building, and their minds were together, and he was lost in their joining. He could see nothing but light, feeling his mate’s body and mind as his own as their release thundered through both of them and they clung together, bodies shuddering and their minds resisting any retreat.

     Jim gasped for breath against Spock’s chest, feeling one of his mate’s hands still pressed to his face, and the other entwined with his own against the bedding. The meld had broken, and their minds were slowly drifting back, the bright light of the bond stretching back between them, as it had been before, still suffused with heat. Their bodies separated at the same time as Spock removed his fingers from Jim’s meld points, and Jim couldn’t help a whimper, feeling back in himself, fully.

     He rolled off of his mate’s body and lay back, feeling sensitized skin shiver and muscles twitch in reaction. He swallowed. “I felt us come together. Not just together, but like there was no difference between you and I. And I saw...I felt... .” His voice trailed off and he turned his head. “That’s what’s going to happen in _pon farr_ , isn’t it? Our _katra_ come together fully?”

     Spock blinked. “It is not so for a normal mating bond, Jim. However, I believe you may be correct.” He turned his own head and Jim saw wide dark eyes, felt amazement stream over their connection. “I felt what it was to be fully human. The freedom and the wonder.” His brow furrowed. “And the silence.” He took a breath and faced the ceiling again, and Jim felt his mate’s emotions surge and crest, this time with no attempt at repression. Waves and waves of powerful feeling washed over them both, and Jim simply held on to his mate’s hand, tears welling in his eyes with the intensity of it. And just as suddenly as they came, they stopped, as Spock’s controls strongly asserted themselves and Jim was left with the muted colors of his mate’s mind.

     Spock released his hand and slowly sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “I must not lose my controls fully, Jim. Not yet.” His back straightened and his chin came up, and Jim felt the control deepen, until only his mate’s mere presence remained.

     The captain focused inward, feeling that his tension had retreated even further, feeling the easing of Spock’s mind with the absence of Jim’s agitation, felt the burning feeling simplify into shifting heat, and the ebb and flow of sharp emotion diminished, and held firmly under Vulcan discipline. He couldn’t help a sigh of relief, knowing that, however temporary this respite, it would allow them to focus fully on their upcoming battle.

     “If I don’t get a chance to tell you later, I love you.” Jim’s voice was quiet.

     “ _Talukh nash-veh k’dular, ashayam_.” Spock shifted to meet his eyes, and smiled.

 

 


	11. Immoveable And Undeniable

Chapter Eleven: Immoveable And Undeniable

 

 

     The flash of the red alert lighting threw shades of human blood across the white consoles and surfaces of the brightly lit bridge. Jim stood next to the helm, hands clasped behind his back, his face a mask of concentration. The rest of the battle group was arranged alongside the heavy cruiser in a standard formation, and the countdown to intercept the supership had begun. Five minutes.

     “All stations report battle readiness, Captain. All indicators show green.” Jim turned slightly to meet Sulu’s eyes. The helmsman inclined his head. “Helm ready, sir.”

     “Thank you, Mr. Sulu.”

     “Forward deflector control to bridge. Scott here.”

     Jim leaned forward to press the intercom on Sulu’s station. “Kirk here, Mr. Scott.”

     “Aye, sir. Our bairns are ready t’go, an’ the modifications t’ the forward deflector array are also readin’ ready. Ah’ve managed t’enhance th’ phase shift even more. Th’trick’ll be maintainin’ our position.”

     “Acknowledged, Scotty. Do you need any backup down there?”

     “Nah, sir. Ah’ve got ma’ lads down ‘ere already. Lieutenant Veshri’s in charge in Main Engineering.”

     “Keep a channel open, Scotty. I want instant updates as this unfolds. We didn’t get a chance to field trial this.”

     “No kiddin’, sir.” There was a barely audible snort. “Not tha’ we ever have before anyway, though.”

     “Right.” Jim shook his head. “Kirk out.”

     Three minutes. Jim stepped forward, in front of the viewscreen, and surveyed the bridge, meeting his officers’ eyes in turn. “Ship-wide broadcast, Lieutenant Uhura.”

     She flipped switches. “Channel’s open, Captain.”

     “This is the Captain. We’re heading into a sure fight against a formidable enemy, but we’ve faced formidable enemies before. This is the best ship in the fleet, and the best crew in the fleet. We’ve got the finest at our side, and we’re fighting for the lives of our fellow citizens. Be the best you can be, today. This is that moment. Kirk out.”

     At his signal, Uhura flipped the channel closed, and Jim nodded, catching his bondmate’s eye before heading to the command chair and sitting down.

     “Thirty seconds to warp initiation.” Sulu’s voice was tight, but his hands were relaxed over his console as he exchanged a glance with Chekov. Around him, the bridge held its collective breath as the countdown reached zero, and the screen snapped into the swirling colors of warp space.

 

 

 

     The intercom buzzed faintly with the open conference channel among all four ships, and Jim leaned forward as the faint shape of the alien vessel appeared on the viewscreen, somewhat distorted and shifting due to the active warp field. Spock’s voice came from behind the captain, “Approaching target ship on pursuit course at point zero three five. Short-range scans agree with previous long-range estimates, Captain. This vessel is two point six times as large as those encountered at Phi Tertia, though of a similar structural design. The hull material is the same, and the vessel is running with full shields. Sensors indicate that the shield energies are comparable to those currently operable on RSV ships, however, limited sensor penetration into the hull makes systems analysis inconclusive at present.”

     Jim nodded. “Any sign it’s taking notice of us?”

     Spock glanced behind him. “Captain, the battle group has entered within ten-thousand meters of the target; no change in course or speed.”

     “Let’s get its attention, then.” Jim pressed a button on his chair. “Kirk to all ships, commence firing now!”

     The forward photon torpedo array lit up, and torpedoes from the other ships, still hurtling through warp space, joined the spread from the _Enterprise_. With a series of bright flashes, the torpedoes impacted against the shields of the vessel and Spock called out, “Captain, full spread absorbed; detecting significant drop in alien’s shield energies.”

     “They’re dropping out of warp, sir!” Sulu exclaimed, his hands already moving across his board.

     “Follow’em, Sulu. Engage coordinated attack protocol.” Jim sat back as the ship’s infrastructure groaned with the sharp deceleration, and the viewscreen swung wildly as the ship came about to face the alien vessel, now looming in front of them, the other Federation vessels appearing in a bracketing formation.

     The bridge echoed with the commands to fire from four different ships, and the powerful phaser arrays focused their beams onto two positions on the larger vessel as Spock relayed status, “Shield energies dropping over designated targets, sir. Fifty percent, forty percent.” Suddenly, Jim felt a sharp pulse of alarm burst along their bond. “Captain, enemy weaponry coming online from the rear section. Sir, the _Kusanagi_ is being targeted!”

     Over the comm, they could hear Luis Montero’s voice issuing commands for evasive action, and on-screen they saw the _Arredondo_ break from position to assist. Suddenly, a large, amorphous pulse of white light burst from the alien craft, moving rapidly towards the fleeing _Kusanagi_ , matching its evasive course.

     They heard Brisker's commands over the intercom and a full spread from the _Arredondo_ impacted the pulse, to no effect. Spock’s voice broke through the noise, “Sir, the weapon is a localized plasma of incredible energy. Measuring a density of 10^10 electrons per cubic centimeter and temperatures of 10^9 Kelvin. Also measuring superimposed variable wavelengths of an apparent containment field.” He abruptly hit a button on his console. “ _Enterprise_ to _Kusanagi_ , break away to warp speed. Your shielding will not withstand a direct hit!”

     The screen was showing the plasma relentlessly drawing closer to the _Kusanagi_ , and over the loudspeaker they heard Montero’s voice. “Our main energizer is out, _Enterprise_. Some kind of dampening field originating from the weapon. We can’t make the jump. We’re... .”

     The intercom roared with sudden static as the plasma engulfed the main section of the heavy cruiser. The resultant brilliant flash and sickening implosion caused the main viewscreen to darken automatically, and they heard Lindstrom’s voice over the line. “Emergency evasive, all ships! They’re firing again!”

     “Evasive, Sulu, punch in the warp drive, get us out of here!”

     The helmsman’s fingers flew over the board as the viewscreen resumed to the horrifying absence of the _Kusanagi_ , all hands lost, and the emission of another brilliant pulse, suddenly too close to the _Enterprise_.

     “Captain, we’ve been targeted!”

     Spock was interrupted sharply by Sulu’s tense voice. “Sir, we’ve lost warp power. Same as the _Kusanagi_. Energizer output’s reading zero.”

     “Maintain full impulse.” Jim slammed the comm. “Kirk to battle group, get the hell out of here!” He switched channels. “Engineering, what’s going on with that energizer?”

     Veshri’s voice broke over the comm. “A dampening field, sir! It’s overloading the main and the auxiliary units as well. We’re working on it, Captain!”

     Jim swung around as the remaining two Starfleet vessels snapped into warp. “How much time until impact, Spock?”

     “Eighty-one seconds, sir.” _Not enough time for an evacuation, Jim._

 _Fuck._ Jim looked back at the helm. “Chekov, try a course shearing away from it.”

     “Aye, sair!”

     Jim stared at the main screen, now directed towards the rear of the _Enterprise_ , where the image of the enemy vessel swirled as they maneuvered, the brilliant ball of deadly plasma growing in their sights.

     “Captain!” Spock didn’t turn around, his hands moving, his focus intent on his screens.

     Jim burst up from his chair and was at his first officer’s side in a split second. “What is it?”

     “The containment field appears be the source of the dampening. And it has the same resonant frequency spectrum emitted by the hull material. I recommend aligning with the pulse and using our deflector arrangement to attempt to deactivate the field.”

     “And re-activate our warp drive.”

     “Precisely.”

     “Do it.”

     Jim stepped back down and sat tensely on the edge of his chair as the Vulcan relayed orders directly to Scotty. At the engineer’s acknowledgement, Jim turned to Sulu. “Okay, Hikaru, let’s bring her about; align the main deflector with the plasma.”

     “Aye, sir.”

     The viewscreen flipped over to the forward direction, and the plasma came into view again, hideously close. “Fire it up, Spock!”

     The bridge lights dimmed and the ambient noise fell as energy was re-directed to the deflector modifications, and they heard a whirring buildup before the entire ship shivered. “Beam on, Captain. Phase modulation successful.” Spock paused. “The containment field is losing energy, sir!”

     Veshri’s voice came back over the comm, “Engineering to bridge. Captain, whatever you’re doing, keep it up, sir, we’re almost back online!”

     “Ten seconds to impact, sir.” Spock’s voice was calm, but Jim’s fingers tightened on the arms of his chair.

     Suddenly the plasma bolt undulated in front of them and began to spread out.

     “Field deactivated, sir!”

     “Warp drive available, Captain!”

     “Go, Sulu! Get us out of here!” The order had barely left Jim’s mouth as Sulu shoved the controls forward and the ship blinked into warp.

     Jim stared at the star trails stretching out in front of him and turned to Uhura. “Lieutenant, get me... .” He grunted as the ship shuddered and screamed, and he was thrown forward against the back of Sulu’s chair, feeling his stomach swim as the inertial stabilizers faltered, and then kicked back in.

     The captain spat out blood and pushed himself to his feet. “Status!” Around him, his crew were picking themselves up, diving back to their consoles. He caught the briefest touch of his bondmate’s mind.

     “We’re stopped in space, Captain. We’re being held in a tractor beam, and are also being subjected to a sensor sweep.” Spock’s hands moved across his console. “All systems are being interrogated, sir. I am unable to... .” His console suddenly blew out in a shower of sparks, and Spock raised his hands to shield his face.

     Jim took a step towards his bondmate, but was brought up by a burst of noise over the intercom. “Engineering to bridge. Veshri here. Captain, our warp drive is out and we’ve got some significant structural damage from the decel. Effecting repairs.”

     “Acknowledged, Lieutenant.” Jim wiped his mouth with the back of one hand and glanced over at his first officer, who had moved quickly over to the Engineering station and was standing behind a young ensign who was holding what looked like a broken arm. “Any chance of breaking free?”

     “Negative, Captain.”

     “Uhura, can we get a message out to Command, or to the other ships?”

     “No, sir.” Her voice was slightly shaky; he had noticed an openly bleeding cut across her forehead from where she had impacted a nearby panel when they had come to a halt. “I’m reading a blanket interference field that is impacting all subspace frequencies. We still have local ship-to-ship.”

     Jim squared his shoulders, forcing his mind to work, staring up at the stabilizing viewscreen, which had wavered and then brought into focus the huge enemy ship immediately in front of them. He felt the eyes of his crew on him; a shot now would finish them. He swallowed, and moved back to stand in front of the command chair. “Uhura, hail them.”

     “Aye, sir. Hailing frequencies open, Captain.”

     “This is Captain James T. Kirk of the Federation starship _Enterprise_ , requesting communication with _Eren’gha_ vessel.”

     Seconds ticked by, and Jim felt a bead of sweat roll down his back. The feeling of rushing adrenaline was back, prompted by the battle, and their current tenuous situation. He could still feel Spock’s iron control, but his emotions were becoming more intense, the fierce repressions returning.

     Suddenly, the open channel spat a burst of static and the viewscreen wavered and then stabilized to an image of a lean figure, clothed in black, sprawled in a silvery chair amid a dully-lit bridge. Jim’s eyes widened slightly as he took in the familiar, yet unfamiliar features of the man he had once known, a man who had once saved his life. Siforit’s skin was deathly pale, and greenish veins spidered across his face and neck. His gray eyes, normally so striking, were dull and surrounded by dark blotches of purple, and his lips were dry and cracked.

     “Captain Kirk. I know you as both his enemy and his inspiration. I suppose I owe you for my own rebirth.” A dry laugh that crackled stridently. “And I suppose I also owe you for this most interesting interlude. You have fared much better than any other of your pathetic commanders thus far.”

     “To whom am I speaking?” Jim kept his chin up.

     “You have not earned the privilege of my name.”

     Jim’s jaw tightened. “And what is your purpose in Federation space?”

     The gray eyes stared at him eerily; he had not blinked. “To win a galaxy.” The head tilted. “But you already know this.” The being slipped off of the chair and stepped forward, his movements strangely awkward and halting. “I will be frank; I am curious as to the reason that inspired my host to undertake the action that allowed me to breathe again.”

     Jim waited, a bad feeling churning in his gut.

     “You and your bondmate will surrender yourselves in exchange for the lives of your crew. And you will bring your _Ren shat’var_ prisoner with you.”

     The bad feeling turned into icy dread, and Jim forced himself to keep his expression neutral. “How will I know you won’t destroy my ship once we’re aboard?”

     The creature smiled, baring his teeth. “I do not care to waste energy destroying your ship, Captain, when it will be better spent subjugating your world.”

 _Fuck_. “And if I refuse?”

     “You will all die.”

     Jim pressed his lips together.  _Spock? Any alternatives?_

_Not at present. It seems, however, that we may have more of an advantage from within the ship, as opposed to outside of it._

     Jim gaze hardened, meeting cold, gray eyes. “We’ll do it.”

 

 


	12. From Within

Chapter Twelve: From Within

 

 

     The shuttle gently glided out of the rear bay of the _Enterprise_ , banking to continue towards the looming enemy vessel. Jim felt a physical pain in his chest as he lost all sense of his ship. He reached for his bondmate’s mind, a tentative brush, and shivered involuntarily as a wash of powerful emotion flooded back at him. _Are you alright?_

     Spock’s mental voice was fraught with tension as he re-asserted his controls.  _No, t’hy’la, I am not. But I will be at your side._

     The bond had resumed its blistering heat from before, and Jim was starting to feel the pressure returning. _Well at least I’ll have a good reason to beat the shit out of something. Maybe it’ll distract him; he’s not used to humans._

_He will likely be able to sense that I am shielding your mind._

_We’ll only need a split second._ Jim turned to glance behind him at Karik, who was sitting in one of the rear seats, hands secured to the armrests, looking steadfastly at the floor, her face uncharacteristically impassive.

     The departure from the _Enterprise_ had been quick, and Jim had forced himself to remain calm in front of the crew. As the transmission had faded to black, Jim had hit the intercom to Security, ordering them to escort the prisoner to the shuttle bay. He then had turned to Sulu. “You’re the Captain now, Mr. Sulu. Take good care of her.” Sulu’s expression had registered confusion for an instant as he glanced at Spock, and then realization dawned. He had nodded tightly to Jim, and held out his hand. Jim gripped it firmly and turned, with Spock at his side, to enter the turbolift. His last vision before the doors had slid shut had been Nyota’s pained expression as she had stood, her hand outstretched, her slender figure bathed in the amber emergency lighting shrouding the bridge.

     The long ride to the rear shuttle bay had been spent in silence. Jim had offered his fingers in the _ozh’esta_ , and Spock had met his hand, moving his own fingers over Jim’s in a gentle caress that belied the fierce tide of _love, anger, protectiveness_ that spilled between them, defied the growing uncontrollable heat of the imminent _pon farr_ , resisted the sudden certainty that neither of them were likely to survive what they were about to do.

     McCoy had been waiting as they exited onto the shuttle deck, headed towards the _Sagan_ , already standing by. The doctor’s eyes had been dark with anger, lines of deep emotion on his face, but his voice had been calm as he had handed the captain a hypo. “Jim, this is set for a massive dose of Lexorin. It’s a long shot, but it might snap whatever mental hold that thing has on Siforit.”

     Jim had taken the hypo, and the doctor had reached out to grip his arm. “Take care, kid.”

     “Thanks, Bones.” Jim had met his friend’s eyes, seen the turmoil there, knew it was matched in his own. He had stepped forward towards the shuttlecraft and glanced back, seeing a security team emerge from the main entrance, escorting the prisoner. As he had boarded the shuttle, he heard Bones murmuring something to Spock, saw the doctor’s hand come up to touch the Vulcan’s shoulder briefly before falling away, and saw his bondmate nod. He had turned away, focusing on starting up the shuttle, trying to block out the knowledge that he was leaving his ship, his family, to the volatile whim of a cruel enemy. As the startup sequence had kicked in, he had sensed his bondmate slip into the co-pilot’s seat, heard Spock acknowledge the security team who had secured an unresisting Karik into a rear seat. _Kaiidth_ , he had said to himself. At least we have a chance.

 

 

 

     The alien docking bay was cavernous and conspicuously empty except for a single other craft, a modified Klingon hunter-seeker, perched close to the hangar doors. As Jim stepped out, feeling the tug of higher gravity and sensing the higher temperature and lower oxygen content of the ambient atmosphere, he noticed that swaths of the familiar elusivium were covered by what appeared to be conventional plastisteel.

     He mentally prodded his bondmate.  _The Ren shat’var apparently didn’t know how to get around the material. Just covered it up._

 _Indeed, t’hy’la._ Spock had emerged from the _Sagan_ as well, Karik just in front of him, her hands still secured, her gray eyes darting around almost frantically. Jim could feel Spock’s shields strengthening and pooling over his mind, blocking out the subtle psionic background that he usually picked up through his mate’s telepathy. The burning bond felt instantly more prominent, and Jim imagined the sensation of his brain heating up as much as his body in the slightly uncomfortable conditions within the ship.

     A sharp noise from across the bay drew their attention, as did the deep bass thrum that was unmistakably the engines coming to life. Jim stood in front of the others, his hands at his sides, feeling the cold pressure of the hypo concealed inside his boot as he watched three figures, dressed in black combat fatigues and carrying deadly-looking bladed weapons, approach.

     The three men were Vulcanoid, evidently _Ren shat’var_ , and as they came closer, Karik pushed past Jim, barking what sounded like a command in her native tongue.

 _Fuck_. Jim instinctively assumed a defensive pose, sensing Spock move to his side, as the three men glanced at each other. One, wearing a blue stripe around his upper arm, stepped forward, his accent thick. “ _Gh’edis_ Karik. I regret that my orders are to bring you to the _Gh’erir_ without delay.”

     “You can at least remove my cuffs, S’Farh, you _srilke_.” Karik let out a string of sharp words that made the other two men lower their eyes, and a hint of pale greenish color appear on S’Farh’s cheekbones.

     Jim took a step forward. “I am Captain James Kirk of the _Enterprise_. I request confirmation that my ship is safe.”

     S’Farh pointedly looked around Karik towards the captain. “Your ship is safe, Captain. We have resumed our original heading. The _Gh’erir_ has kept his word and awaits your presence.” He held out a small unit in his free hand, saying, “Your captain is here, and requests status.”

     Jim leaned forward eagerly, but paused as one of the other men stepped quickly around to level his blade at Spock’s throat. “Kirk here.”

     The unit crackled, and Sulu’s voice came back, “The enemy vessel has departed, sir. No further hostile actions towards us. Captain, are... ?”

     S’Farh pulled the unit away and flipped the channel closed with a flick of his thumb, handing it to the other guard. “That will be sufficient.” He tilted his head to where Spock was still being threatened with the blade. “You will release _Gh’edis_ now.”

     Jim and Spock exchanged a glance, and Jim let out a tight breath, moving over and keying in the release sequence. Karik refused to look at him, and as the cuffs clattered to the floor, she did not rub her wrists or show any other sign of discomfort; simply moving her hands to her sides, her gaze dispassionate. S’Farh made a small gesture, reaching for what looked like a small scanning device on his belt. “I will check you for weapons, Captain.”

     Jim nodded, raising his arms out at his sides as S’Farh waved the device over his body and arms and down along his legs, passing over his boots. The soldier straightened again, peering at the device, and Jim’s heart beat faster. There was no way the hypo could have been missed, yet S’Farh merely met his eyes briefly before moving to scan Spock, and then Karik herself.

     One of the other soldiers turned and led the way to the bay exit, and they were gestured to follow, S’Farh and the other soldier walking behind them. Jim walked next to Spock.  _We may have an ally. Maybe the alien’s destruction of the RSV ships pissed off the natives_.

_I would urge caution. We do not yet know what we are facing._

_No shit._ Jim could feel his mate’s swirling emotions even clearer now, and noticed that he was no longer attempting to repress them. He could sense Spock’s determination, his external focus, the unwavering energy he was now poring into his shields. As they walked, Jim glanced subtly to the side.  _What is it?_

_There is a distinct telepathic presence, similar to the near-sentient computer I was in contact with in the underground chamber. It is continually scanning us, all of us. I do not detect any mental shielding from the Ren shat’var, Jim. It may be aware of the hypo already, if S’Farh is._

_Double fuck._ Jim forced down a wave of his own fear and concentrated on memorizing the way back to the shuttle bay, reconciling it with the rough schematic Karik had provided.

     The narrow halls, ceiling, and floor of the craft were entirely covered in the darker, conventional plastisteel, and appeared worn. Every now and then, Jim spotted a bent panel, or a loose piece of flooring, revealing the dull silver gleam of the _Eren’gha_ material, which appeared to shimmer slightly as they passed. The vessel did not appear to have lifts of any kind, but merely a steadily increasing curving incline as they walked, closed doors on either side. The engines continued their deep pulse in the background.

     The hallway abruptly ended at a pair of larger, sliding doors, and Jim watched as S’Farh stepped forward and pressed his palm to a flat panel, allowing the doors to smoothly open to a dimly lit room.

 

 

 

     Nyota stared at the turbolift doors as they slid shut, separating her from her commanding officers, and her friends. She allowed her hand to drop to her side, and shot an instinctive glare at the huge ship hovering on the viewscreen, her head pounding with the dull pain of her impact with the nearby console during the sharp deceleration. Sulu had moved next to the command chair, making the quick ship-wide announcement about the change in command, and Ensign Tate had replaced him at the helm. The entire bridge crew looked to be in shock, and Sulu met her gaze, raising his voice pointedly. “Uhura, you’re Acting First.”

     Nyota’s glare deepened, but her response was a crisp, “Yes, sir.”

     Sulu took a breath and sat down in the command chair, turning slightly to face Lieutenant Matheson, who had replaced Spock. “Lieutenant, I want continuous scans of that ship. Anything you can tell me, power output, anything. And keep an eye on our shuttle.” He punched the comm. “Bridge to Engineering, this is Acting Captain Sulu. Report on repair progress.”

     Scotty’s voice came back sounding harried, “Capt’n, we’re still a mess down ‘ere. All main systems are off-line an’ we’re running on auxiliaries.”

     Sulu leaned forward. “Mr. Scott, we’re a sitting duck out here.”

     Scotty snorted. “I cannae change the amount o’time needed t’ repair th’ structural damage. We try goin’ t’ warp w’ the nacelles out o’ balance, an’ we’ll end up scattered in bits an’ pieces!”

     Nyota re-seated herself at her station, listening to the damage control reports still streaming in. Her jaw clenched as she thought of the supership’s heading and apparent purpose. And it would be taking Spock and Jim with it. She forced her heavy thoughts into the back of her mind as Chekov announced the shuttle departure and focused on analysis of the interference field. Their best bet was to contact the fleet, even if it was just to inform them of the situation.

     The bridge crew watched as the _Sagan_ banked towards the ship, shuddering slightly as it was held by a tractor beam and pulled towards the rear of the craft, disappearing from view. Sulu’s fingers drummed an anxious pattern on the arm of the command chair, and suddenly the supership moved smoothly, reversing course along a lateral line and then coming about.

     “Matheson, is it preparing to fire?” Sulu’s voice was tense.

     “No, sir, it looks like it’s preparing to warp.” The flash of the great ship jumping to warp space lit up the viewscreen, and Nyota took a shaky breath. They were alone, and still alive. Jim’s gamble had worked. She glanced at her screens, furrowing her brow. “Captain, the interference with communications is dissipating. We should have full comms back on-line momentarily.” Seconds later, an incoming message lit up Nyota’s board. “I’ve got a hailing signal from the _Eren’gha_ ship!”

     “Put it on speakers.” Sulu shifted in the command chair as Nyota put the call through.

     An unfamiliar voice speaking in a rough accent that Nyota recognized as characteristic of the _Ren shat’var_ filled the bridge. “Your captain is here, and requests status.”

     There was a pause as Sulu reached for the comm button and Jim’s voice came over the speakers, “Kirk here.”

     “The enemy vessel has departed, sir. No further hostile actions towards us.” Sulu glanced over at Matheson. “Captain, are you and Mr. Spock alright?”

     A sharp burst of static filled the bridge, and Nyota flipped switches fruitlessly. “We’ve lost them, sir. The communication cut out on their end.”

     Sulu murmured a curse and switched channels on the arm of his chair. “Scotty, I need engine power yesterday!” He turned to Nyota without waiting for a response. “Uhura, we need to contact Command, emergency frequencies, priority one. And see if you can raise the _Chesapeake_ or the _Arredondo_.”

     “Yes, sir.” Her hands flew across the board, and she forced thoughts of her friends to the back of her mind. Spock and Jim had been in bad situations before and had survived. She could only hope that their luck hadn’t just run out.

 

 

 

     The first thing Jim noticed as he stepped inside was the omnipresent gleam of silver. The room was circular, and all along the elusivium walls was the glow from hundreds of multi-colored lights, glimmering and then retreating. A more traditional paneled console was incongruously placed towards the front of the room, immediately before a large screen, currently lit up with the colors of warp space. Around the circumference, however, other, similar, consoles had apparently been ripped out and flung haphazardly against the far, right wall. To their left, Jim spied a familiar object, a large, streamlined sculpture almost identical to the one they found on Epsilon Canelis II. This sculpture, however, seemed to practically pulse through Spock’s telepathic sense, and Jim felt his stomach drop. This ark, probably the very one found in previously Klingon space, was very much active, and occupied, and Jim reached for his mate’s mind along the bond, feeling Spock’s immediate response, _No matter what, do not touch any of the material._

     Jim sent back an affirmative, his attention shifting sharply to the center of the room, where a large chair was swiveling slowly to face them. Sprawled in it was the thin body of their former reluctant ally, his features distorted in the forced service of an alien entity. A bad feeling started to creep along Jim’s thoughts, and he became aware of Spock’s mental shielding tightening even more.

     The three _Ren shat’var_ soldiers stepped forward into the room, allowing the doors to shut behind them. Karik had stopped immediately upon entering the room, staring at her brother’s body, and as the dull gray eyes shifted to her, she let out a small noise.

     The creature’s voice was low. “Ah, Karik. Your present disfigurement is unfortunate. Your brother has such fond memories of your beauty.”

     “Fool,” she hissed back, “you’ve destroyed the very people who would have welcomed you, who would have worked alongside you to rule the galaxy.”

     A pale hand waved limply. “People?” A sneer. “Nothing more than slightly more robust versions of the human subcreatures. Weak and easily led; pliable.” The gray eyes shifted to look contemptuously at the bowed heads of the three soldiers and then moved again, fixing on Spock. Jim felt a strange pressure building against his mind, sliding against Spock’s shields.

     “Now here is a more formidable specimen. Between you and the human, I can now understand why my host was so eager to enter into a similar bond. Even now he begs for your lives.”

     Jim’s eyes widened involuntarily, and he quickly forced a neutral expression as the creature looked back at him, a thin smile on his face. “Oh, yes, Captain, your friend is here. His mind, while weak, is still useful as a receptacle of information about my new domain.” The thin smile expanded into a leer as the gray eyes moved towards the statue. “As your mind and body, and your bondmate’s, will be useful for my brothers.” The dull eyes flickered back to Karik. “And you, my sister, will be truly my sister again, when my bloodmate takes your body and mind. I know of your strength of will, and of your cunning from my host. The three of you are whom he felt the closest in life; a kinship that will continue when my closest allies take control of your beings. And the three of you, conveniently, hold significant knowledge of the governments that I seek to conquer. Convenient.” The being let out a disturbing laugh.

     Jim flinched slightly, and he felt the pressure against his bondmate’s mental barriers increase. His thoughts raced, and he stepped forward, giving an exaggerated smirk. “Are you serious?”

     The alien’s expression blanked for an instant, and Jim felt the mental pressure ease. “I do not understand.”

     Jim took a couple more steps, throwing his natural swagger into his gait, crossing his arms and looking away towards the viewscreen insolently. “Your plan is to take over the Federation with a single ship and three borrowed minds?” He kept the smirk. “Seriously?”

     The alien’s eyes were narrowed, now, his voice low and dangerous. “You do not fear me? You saw what this ship is able to do, under proper control. I will destroy your homeworld.”

     Jim felt a pulse of warning from his bondmate, but pressed what tiny advantage he had. “And then what? Take this thing all the way back to your planet for replacement parts or to scavenge a new fleet? That’s a hell of a commute.” He cocked his head. “And whomever you leave in charge is going to be at a distinct disadvantage.”

     A muscle twitched along the alien’s jaw. “Your _world_ , human. You know my threat is not an idle one. Much will be promised us under the threat of annihilation. And a message has been sent to call my brothers and sisters to this cause.”

     Jim put his hands on his hips. “Or not. Maybe you didn’t hear about the end of your civilization, being stuck in a tube for so long.”

     The alien visibly flinched. “We have never been conquered.”

     “Really?” Jim lowered his voice. “Then I guess I imagined all those floating wrecks in your home system. Ships, just like this one, dead, gone, destroyed. This,” he gestured around the room, “is all that remains of your culture. Did you not know?”

     The alien blinked rapidly, and the pulsations of the ark increased in frequency, turning into a dizzying swirl. “You lie. You are in error.”

     “No, if anything I’m a little disappointed. I thought you knew everything Siforit did.”

     The mental pressure had completely ceased against Spock’s shields and the alien’s eyes suddenly became unfocused. Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw the soldiers glancing at each other, one rubbing his temples. Karik’s eyes had not moved from the body of her brother. Jim licked his lips and cautiously stepped closer still, knowing that he would only need a couple seconds to pull out and administer the hypo. He felt Spock’s body tense through their bond.

     Suddenly, the gray eyes widened and filled with rage, and the alien shot out of his seat. “Deceivers. Subcreatures.” One fingernail raked across his palm, dripping green blood down his wrist and into his sleeve. “Trapped in this body. Its mind a web of deceit and lies.” The eyes turned to Jim, who shifted into a defensive stance. “You lie. My people are not dead. Time has passed, but nothing more. The _Eren’gha_ are forever! See how I, even though imprisoned light-years and millennia from my home, have won this ship, and will win your empire. One against millions, and I will prevail! My world cannot fall. We are conquerors, never the conquered. So it has been for our entire existence and so it always shall be.”

     Jim shook his head, aware of Spock slipping closer to his side. “What happened before will happen again. Your arrogance will be your undoing.”

     The alien’s voice was now a growl. “ _Your_ arrogance suggests that you believe you hold an advantage. However, you shall find that your advantage is merely a construct; I allow your confidence even as I allow your life.” He raised a hand. “S’Farh, remove the mechanism from the human.”

 _Shit._ Jim couldn’t help an expression of helpless anger cross his face as S’Farh and the other two soldiers walked forward, their bladed weapons held at the ready. Jim glanced at Karik, who was staring at him. Her eyes were full of matching anger, and desperation, and she gave him the smallest nod. _Here we go_ , Jim sent to his bondmate, and as the nearest soldier reached for Jim’s arm, Karik let out a high-pitched scream.

     It was perfectly timed, and S’Farh’s involuntary flinch in her direction gave Jim his opportunity to strike. He ducked back and kicked strongly at the soldier’s sword arm, sending the weapon flying to clatter across the floor. Jim saw Spock scoop it up as the captain narrowly evaded a slash from one of the other soldiers, and felt the bondspace burn as his mate flew past him, engaging the two armed soldiers and forcing them back.

     Though weaponless, S’Farh charged at Jim, and the captain dove to the side, rolling and coming back up to his feet. The higher-than-Earth gravity and lower oxygen content was already affecting him, and he was gasping for air, his muscles protesting. The larger Vulcanoid spun and swung at him again, and Jim barely dodged a powerful blow.

     Karik had darted towards the alien and they were circling one another. Jim heard a groan from one of the soldiers and glanced over to see him drop, motionless, to the floor as Spock removed his hand from the juncture of his neck and shoulder. The remaining soldier was backed up against the wall by a Vulcan now in possession of two blades, and Jim threw all his body weight into a low kick at S’Farh’s knee. His boot connected, and he heard a crunch as S’Farh went down hard. Jim spun away, seeing Karik attack suddenly, moving at inhuman speed, her eyes flashing. And then, so quickly that Jim almost missed it, the alien’s hand shot out, grasping Karik’s striking arm and holding her easily, his other hand moving to her face. As his fingers connected to her skin, she started to scream, and Jim instinctively leapt forward, pulling the hypo out of his boot and lunging for the alien’s exposed neck.

     The hand was on his throat before he registered that Karik’s limp body had fallen to the floor, and he was suddenly inundated with a powerful mental presence, battering Spock’s shielding, smashing into it with devastating force, clawing into it with streaks of screaming, ripping agony. He flailed wildly, feeling his wrist grasped with brutal strength, the grip tightening more and more until he released the hypo helplessly, and then cried out as his arm was twisted cruelly and he heard bone shatter.

     The corners of his vision were darkening from the lack of oxygen, but he saw his bondmate, who had turned to move to Jim’s aid, stagger and almost fall under the force of the mental attack, his eyes closed, his face contorted with effort. Jim felt Spock’s focused energy pound through the bond, reinforcing the protective shields around Jim’s mind. And the captain felt his wrist released, felt a series of crunching blows against his torso, felt ribs go, and worst of all, felt a horrifying phantom pain as S’Farh, somehow back on his feet, landed a punch to the distracted Vulcan’s midsection, ripped one of the weapons free and plunged it into Spock’s chest. Jim wanted to scream, but couldn’t get enough air, twisting helplessly as his bondmate collapsed and S’Farh raised the blade again.

     From above him, he heard a muffled command and was suddenly released and dropped to the floor, his body jerking in agony as his weight landed on broken bones. He turned his head, frantically looking for Spock, and saw S’Farh stepping back and lowering his weapon, leaving the Vulcan lying on his side on the floor, blood pooling underneath him through his ripped tunic. Spock’s eyes were wide and unfocused, and as Jim gasped for air, he realized that his mate’s energy was still relentlessly reinforcing his shields, still protecting Jim. Karik was weakly crawling away, whimpering, and the captain managed to turn his head back to see the alien advancing on him again, felt a gruesome pain as a booted foot impacted his stomach and the captain coughed red blood onto the floor.

     “And now, Kirk, we will have your mind.”

     Cold, pale fingers pressed relentlessly on his face, and Jim couldn’t get away, and the storm rose and the horrifying presence reached for him, and the shields were cracking, cracking, and Jim let out a final cry for his mate and suddenly everything went white.

 

 

 

     Spock’s eyes were shut, blocking out everything but the mental conduit between himself and his mate. He ignored the harsh agony in his chest, the threatening presence of an enemy standing above him, he ignored Jim’s physical injuries, his mate’s terror. All Spock’s focus, all his energy was directed past that, through the bond, and poured against the malignant mind now threatening to take over his mate’s consciousness.

     The alien’s mind was somehow familiar, from the impressions and sensations Spock had experienced before, during his mind-touch with the _Eren’gha_ computer systems and from what was sent through the breaking link. Familiar, and formidable. There was no softness, here. No gentleness, or compassion, simply an overwhelming urge to dominate, to conquer; a single-mindedness that was striking and devoid of the inherent complexity usually found in a sentient mind. As Spock drove his mental self forward to defend his mate, he saw parts of the alien’s consciousness that were broken, incomplete. Perhaps the inevitable result of so much time spent disembodied amongst members of an insatiable race was the gradual ripping apart of one’s soul as food for others also desperate to survive.

     Spock fought fiercely, pushing the alien mind relentlessly back and away. Jim had lost awareness, had retreated in the face of the titanic clash between telepaths, but Spock was winning. And the alien seemed to sense this, and there was a sudden widening of its own consciousness as others, dimly connected along tenuous mental filaments, joined the fight. Spock’s mind was rapidly becoming outflanked. Despite the weakness of the newcomers, they were many, and he was one, and they each attacked with a unique desperation. He could sense their hunger, not only for Jim’s mind, but for his own as well.

     He reached ever forward, spreading himself perhaps too thin, and felt the strands anchoring his _katra_ stretch and begin to give, felt the darkness begin to surround him. So it would be, again. He called out to Jim, to warn him, and then felt something new, rising up behind the alien’s mind, freed as the entity was focused elsewhere. _Siforit!_ The renegade Vulcan’s mind poured forward towards Spock, and as they brushed, Spock knew what could be done. He gathered himself, feeling Siforit’s presence anchor him, focusing all the powerful emotions and energy set free in the heat of _pon farr_ , and he pushed outwards like he had done before against another intrusive force, calling forth a powerful telepathic wave, sensed the weak minds scatter and fade, felt the alien’s arrogance turn to astonishment. And as the wave crashed over the alien’s mind, the connection exploded and Spock mentally curled back protectively over Jim, feeling the alien’s death like a dark stench, sensing Siforit’s presence fly free, feeling the death screams of the other minds, and clung to the bond with his mate as the psionic landscape disintegrated and they fell into the maelstrom.

 

 

 

     Brisker looked haggard, new lines showing around her dark brown eyes. Behind her, red lighting flashed intermittently across the bridge of the _Arredondo_.

     “Kirk and Spock are both aboard?”

     “Yes, ma’am.” Sulu was facing the viewscreen, but Nyota could hear the frustration in his voice at their continued helplessness.

     On-screen, Brisker ran a hand over her face. Nyota had managed to contact the _Arredondo_ just as it had engaged with a number of _Ren shat’var_ craft that had apparently followed the supership into Federation space. The two sides were currently in a standoff, neither one budging, and neither one communicating. The _Ren shat’var_ , whatever their intentions, were apparently content to wait and see the outcome of the final confrontation near Earth, where the rest of the Federation fleet had gathered and evacuations were now being carried out. On orders from Command, the _Chesapeake_ was trailing the supership at a discrete distance. The supership was now pounding along even faster than before, and would reach the heart of Federation space in less than ten hours.

     “And what’s your status, Mr. Sulu?”

     “Repairs are proceeding. My engineers are estimating two more hours until we can attempt warp speed.”

     Brisker’s eyes were intense. “When you’re back up, get to Earth. They’ll need you there.”

     “Yes, ma’am.”

     The captain nodded, almost to herself. “Let’s all hope that Jim Kirk can pull another miracle. I don’t know what else is left to try.”

 

 

 

     Jim gasped awake, and he blinked to clear his eyes, darkness still dancing on the edges of his vision. He gave a startled grunt as he realized he was lying on the floor, looking directly into lifeless gray eyes. Siforit’s body was motionless, and Karik knelt over it, her hands in fists against her chest, her eyes shut tight. The thrum of the engines was gone, and the viewscreen showed a simple starfield, spinning slowly as the ship drifted. The lighting had changed, and the elusivium walls no longer shimmered nor pulsed.

     The captain coughed and moaned as pain tore through him, and he pushed himself up onto his good hand and his knees, crawling haltingly away from the body and towards his bondmate. Spock was lying on his back, eyes closed, one hand pressed against the openly bleeding wound. The shielding was gone and Spock’s mind was exposed, and through his mate’s unrestrained telepathy Jim could feel Karik’s grief and the two conscious soldiers’ confusion and fear reaching into his own mind, making him feel nauseous. The bond was still burning, but almost helplessly, flailing as if it was aware of the futility of it all. Jim could feel Spock’s remaining control working to protect Jim from the harsh, throbbing pain that roiled against the human’s mind.

     Jim forced himself to Spock’s side, and pressed his uninjured hand on top of his mate’s, trying to stem the flow of blood. “What happened?” His voice was rough, and he tasted his own blood in his mouth. _Spock? Hang on, okay?_

     S’Farh was sitting on the floor, his weapon lying next to him. “I do not know. One moment you were being attacked, and the next, the _Gh’erir_ was screaming, and then...he died.” The Vulcanoid’s face was unnaturally gray. “I could feel something in my mind. I could feel death.” His jaw worked as he stared around him at the now-dulled walls. “All the systems went off-line when the _Gh’erir_ died. Everything stopped. The voices in my head, everything.” He muttered something in his own language that sounded like a prayer. The other soldier was kneeling next to his unconscious companion, and Jim could literally feel the fallen soldier regain his awareness. The captain choked back bile, spitting more blood onto the floor.

     “I need a medkit. Anything.” _Spock, can you hear me?_

     For a couple seconds, S’Farh didn’t move, and then he blinked. “On the wall.”

     Jim inhaled sharply and forced himself to his feet, grunting with pain and willing himself to stay conscious as he limped to the wall near the doors where they entered. Here, the plastisteel paneling remained, and an unmistakable medkit hung at eye level. Jim tore it off and opened it. Not enough. He struggled back to Spock’s side, panic rushing through his veins.  _Hang on, baby._

     “Is there a medbay onboard? S’Farh!”

     The solder roused himself, staring at Siforit’s body. “It was shut down when the _Gh’erir_ took control. No power.”

     “Fuck!” Jim fumbled inside the kit for the scanner, his attention diverted for just an instant, when a sharp blow to the side of his head knocked him to the floor. He cried out and darkness swam across his vision before retreating yet again.

     Karik stood over Jim, her voice no more than a hiss. “We’re not finished. We’re far from finished. We have this vessel, and two Starfleet officers.” Jim saw her wild eyes focus on S’Farh. “Get up and over to the main console! The _Eren’gha_ systems are down, but our auxiliaries should still be functioning. Get us back into warp. You too, Svortan, S’Direen, get our shields back up!”

     S’Farh stumbled to his feet, and limped out of Jim’s field of vision, the other soldiers following. Jim could barely feel the bond over the pounding pain in his head, but he could see Spock’s chest continue to rise and fall with his breathing, could see his mate’s hand still pressed against the wound. A shudder ran through the ship and Jim heard the bass note of the engines come back online.

     Karik stared down at him. “Set course away from here. Get us out of Federation space.” Jim heard S’Farh acknowledge her command, saw Karik step over him and crouch down on the other side of Spock. “So, you kill for your bondmate.” Her voice was shaking, waves of jealous anger pouring from her mind. “I did not understand why my brother reached for your mind instead of mine. Why he called for you instead of me. And even though he warned you, even though he had saved your life, you let him die. For a human.” She stood smoothly. “Now you will see that it was all in vain. You will watch your mate tortured, and you shall follow, both of you spilling your Federation’s secrets to us. No, we are not finished yet.”

     S’Farh had moved back over, and was waving the small medical scanner over Spock’s torso. “He is losing too much blood; he will not be alive by the time we reach our space.” He fixed Jim with a steely gaze. “And if he dies, his bondmate will follow him into death.”

     Karik’s lips twitched. “Use the regenerator. Stop the bleeding.”

     S’Farh shook his head. “I am not a healer, _Gh’edis_ , and the regenerator is not meant for such injuries. Use of it at the necessary intensity would be unpleasant, and provide only a temporary solution.”

     Karik made a sharp gesture. “Enough. You caused this mess, and you are going to fix it. I do not care what condition he is in, as long as he is alive to be questioned.”

     With a swallow, S’Farh motioned to one of the other _Ren shat’var_ soldiers. “Hold him.”

     “No.” Jim’s whisper was not acknowledged, and he saw the Vulcanoid kneel over his prone bondmate, holding Spock’s arms down at his sides. There was a dull humming noise as S’Farh activated the unit and a suddenly Jim felt a blinding agony extend over the bond, felt it weakly repressed under Spock’s remaining control, and heard his bondmate’s pained, choked noise.

     “Stop!” Jim gasped out.

     Karik laughed. “Save your pleas for later, Kirk.” She shifted to peer over S’Farh’s shoulder, her eyes narrowing as she watched. After a moment, she nodded and stepped back. “And what about the human; will he live?”

     The soldier stopped his grim work and leaned back, nodding to the other, who slowly released Spock. Jim craned his neck to see his mate’s face, ignoring the approach of Karik’s henchman. Spock was pale and his eyes were closed, but Jim knew he was still barely conscious from the feeling through the bond, the pain roiling beneath his control. His tunic had been torn open even more and blood was everywhere but the wound appeared to be closed. The captain’s attention was drawn to S’Farh, who was passing the scanner over Jim’s body.

     “ _Gh’edis_ , he will live. His injuries are significant, but not immediately life-threatening. He is in significant pain, however.”

     Karik narrowed her eyes. “No matter.” She jerked her head in the direction of the doors. “Take them down to the holding cell.”

     Hands with ruthless strength grasped Jim under his arms and he grunted as he felt the shift of broken bones, finally feeling his bondmate slip into unconsciousness. Jim couldn’t help a strangled moan as they dragged him away, and his last vision of that terrible bridge was the dull gleam of satisfaction in Karik’s gray eyes.

 

 


	13. Turnabout

Chapter Thirteen: Turnabout

 

 

     The door slid shut with a dull metallic sound, the light above it blinking red, and Jim stared for a moment, shock and anger warring within him. The ship was retreating, the alien was dead, and the weapon was off-line. They had saved Earth, and the _Enterprise_ was safe; the fleet was safe. It would have to be enough. He shifted back against the cold wall and flinched as the pain of his injuries flared suddenly, his head spinning, darkness hovering around the edges of his vision. He forced a ragged breath, and leaned his head back, staring up at the ceiling, listening to the powerful thrum of the engines as the ship headed towards enemy territory.

     Jim didn’t know how long he sat there, trying to remain still to avoid the grinding pain in his body. He knew he lost consciousness at least once. The mental silence was disconcerting; somehow now even more so than in the past. Above the physical discomfort was a yearning for Spock’s mental presence, deeper and more profound than ever before. The captain stretched out his good arm, blindly reaching his fingers to gently brush Spock’s hair, where the Vulcan lay on his side next to him. He could feel the warmth of Spock’s scalp, and he could hear the soft, slightly uneven sounds of his breathing, and Jim could feel his own agitated mind reaching involuntarily into that hazy darkness of his mate’s unconsciousness. He almost felt as if he could fall into it, fall into his mate and let go.

     The sudden slap of awareness over their connection made Jim gasp, and he let out a sigh as his pain eased into mere background discomfort. Jim slumped further against the wall, managing to turn his head to regard the Vulcan, dark eyes just now blinking open. The bondspace was suffused anew with a dull burning sensation, and Jim saw his mate’s gaze fix fiercely on him before full consciousness took hold and the intensity gentled somewhat.

     Spock pushed against the floor, struggling to sit up. Despite the steady flow of precious energy streaming to the captain, the bond echoed with the agony of the hasty and cruel medical intervention and Jim still felt dizzy and profoundly weak. He knew he should take advantage of the relief to check the room for a way out, but he was having trouble feeling his legs and spots bloomed in his field of vision as he attempted to move. As Spock finally leaned back on the wall next to him, Jim frowned, slumping back, exhaling in frustration. “You shouldn’t help me so much. You look like shit.”

     Spock swallowed. “It is what you would do.”

     The captain smiled, but without humor. “Yeah, but I’m an idiot. I’m the one who got us onto this fucking ship.” Spock was silent, but Jim felt his mate’s emotions spiking through the bond again: harsh, crystal clear, and without repression, a deep sense of protectiveness and devotion. With the distance, Jim could no longer sense the _Ren shat’var_ , but there was something else, still hovering in the background, and Jim knew that the ark was still active. Empty, but active; the large-scale shutdown of the _Eren’gha_ systems with the death of Siforit had not, somehow, affected it. Siforit. Sluggishly, Jim’s mind shifted gears again. “You did it again, didn’t you? Projected? Like in that chamber with Hamilton’s machine?”

     “Yes.” Spock’s eyes closed briefly. “I could feel him reaching for you. He was in contact with the computer, with the ark, and would have transferred one of the others into your mind. I could not allow it.”

     “How?” Jim knew that his mate had not done it deliberately the first time, and that M’Benga had assumed it could not happen again.

     “I sensed Siforit’s mind freed, as the entity’s focus was turned away. He was again able to anchor my mind, and I pushed the strong emotional energy as before; used it as a weapon, this time consciously. The energy was strong, with _pon farr_... .” Spock’s voice trailed off. Jim flinched, the burn along the bond suddenly the focus of his attention, the true precariousness of their situation devastatingly clear. Jim felt Spock’s grief at the taking of life, but also grim satisfaction at protecting his mate, and anger that Jim had been hurt. The emotions were powerful, undiluted, and poured into Jim like they were his own.

     The captain’s head spun, and, not knowing what else to say, Jim tried for dark humor. “I’m not hanging out with you anymore, babe. Getting blown up sucks.”

     Their private joke provoked a transient ripple of amusement from his bondmate, and Jim leaned his head back and closed his eyes, counting time with the pulse of blood through his head. “I suppose they’ll use the mind-sifter.” Even his eyelids hurt.

     “I will not allow it.” There was no fear in the Vulcan’s voice, or mind, simply a steely sense of determination.

     Jim could feel Spock’s eyes on him, dark and focused, and was reminded of that ill-fated journey in the _Copernicus_ almost a year before, when Spock had bonded them. Jim had often teased his bondmate about cheating his way out of his own no-win scenario, and wondered now if their luck had finally run out. He took a breath. “Spock, I know we’re not going down without a fight, but if it comes to it, will you... ?” He let his voice trail away, knowing that his mate could sense his thoughts.

     “Yes, _ashayam_.”

     The captain grunted. “You didn’t agree to it the last time we were in a similar mess.”

     He felt a wave of love and fierce possessiveness pour across the bond. “I would be able to follow you, now.”

     Jim blinked rapidly and reached out to grasp Spock’s hand where it lay limply beside him. “And I’d be able to follow you?” He could feel the reassuring electric warmth in that small contact.

 _Always, t’hy’la_. Spock’s fingers tightened around his.

     Jim nodded and took a deep breath. “Well, at least that’s something to look forward to.” He turned to look at Spock. “You know, I don’t really remember what happened after I died the last time.”

     The Vulcan’s breathing was growing more uneven, the poorly closed wound in his chest now slowly oozing blood. “I imagine that even if you did remember, it would be quite unlikely that you would be able to convey such a concept to someone who had not also experienced it.”

     Jim chuckled, wincing as his ribs twinged. “Guess it’ll be an adventure for both of us, then.”

     He looked away, towards the door, where a single green light was blinking. He squinted, forcing his brain to work. “Spock, wasn’t that light red before?”

     The Vulcan turned his head, focusing on the light. Jim felt a mental affirmative slip across the bond and suddenly the ship shuddered, an explosion sounding tinny within the metal cell. The lighting flickered, and there was a shriek of metal as the deck shook again. The thrum of the engines was abruptly gone.

     “We’re out of warp!” Jim gathered all his strength and pushed himself to his feet, stumbling and collapsing against the wall before his bondmate’s arm wrapped around him and pulled him upright. Jim leaned on the Vulcan helplessly, feeling Spock’s body shaking, evidence of the strain on weakened and damaged muscles and tissue. They approached the door, and Jim startled as it slid smoothly open, the corridor empty outside, and the reddish lighting replaced by a pale blue. Jim was feeling stronger as his mate’s energy flowed into him, and adrenaline acting to clear his vision, and he pulled away to peer out the door.

     The corridors were empty, and completely silent with the deep notes of the engines gone, and Jim stretched all his senses to their limit as he crept out, hugging the wall, sensing Spock’s presence close behind him, the heated connection smoldering within his mind, the slightest edge of pain slipping from beneath desperately maintained Vulcan discipline. Jim’s mind raced, and he made a decision.  _We’re going to the secondary control room. Maybe we can override the bridge systems from there._

 _Unlikely._ Spock’s emotions were crashing within the bond, completely uncontrolled. There was possessive anxiety, a primal need to protect, and staggering love welling deep within the latent mental heat. But beneath it all was a growing fragility; the energy Spock was expending keeping them both upright was rapidly becoming too much. They had to hurry.

 _Worth a shot._ Something or someone had dropped the ship out of warp. Something or someone had released the security system on their cell. Jim was willing to take a chance. If they were where he thought, based on Karik’s hasty schematic, the secondary control room would be down the next connecting corridor. Pushing faster, he heard Spock’s breath catch behind him, and ignored it, moving to the upcoming junction where he peered carefully around the corner.

     The door was unguarded, and the same blinking green light was flashing overhead. _Fuck it_. Holding his breath, Jim slipped around the corner and limped down the hall. As he reached the door, it slid open without any prompting and Jim tensed again, bracing for a confrontation. But the room was empty, the lights on the _Ren shat’var_ jerry-rigged consoles flashing brightly, and the viewscreen showing a placid, slowly spinning starfield. Jim and Spock exchanged a glance and Jim moved forward, collapsing into the seat in front of the main console. Spock, unsteady on his feet, but still moving determinedly, eased into the room and sat down heavily at the secondary board. The door slid abruptly shut and a loud beep sounded, the blinking green light shifted back to red.

     “I guess we’re where they wanted us.” Jim’s voice held an edge of sarcasm as he turned to his bondmate. “Let’s see what we can do with this.” The panels were, surprisingly, a patchwork combination of scavenged Starfleet and Klingon parts, and the coding displayed on the screens was Starfleet-standard scripting. Jim shook his head, murmuring, “They must have been refitting this behemoth with all that missing equipment from Beta. Lucky fucking us.”

     With only minutes of work, they determined that the ship was stopped within Federation space, the engines damaged by an explosion, source unknown. The bridge controls were already locked out somehow, and power re-routed to the secondary room. Jim rubbed his forehead in confusion and punched in a sequence to open the communications grid, made awkward by his use of only one hand. “Spock, send priority message on Starfleet alert frequencies signaling our position and status. Tell them to approach with caution; this is all too fucking convenient.”

     He sensed an acknowledgement from his bondmate as the intercom blared, “Kirk!” A burst of alien profanity washed over the speakers. “How did you accomplish this? I will personally cut your throat and watch you drown in your own... .” The line was abruptly cut.

     Jim raised his eyebrows and glanced over at Spock. “She sounds pissed.”

     Spock was keying in the distress message, his fingers abnormally slow, his posture curled in, and he didn’t respond. Jim’s mouth tightened.  _Let me know when you’ve finished sending._ The pain was steadily growing, and the pulses of unchecked emotion throbbed against his mind, but Jim still felt his mate’s energy flowing into him. He could sense a mantra, in Vulcan, repeating over and over through the link.

     Jim pulled up the security screen and checked the command routing. As he examined the coding, he squinted. “Spock, when you’re done, pull up security A-359 and take a look at command lines ending in 2345 to 2389.”

     There was a pause, and then the Vulcan’s voice haltingly came from the other console, “Communication successfully sent. Switching to security logs now.” Jim chewed the inside of his cheek, daring a glance at the sealed door. The light still blinked red.

     “Jim, these lines are coded to have originated from the central mainframe, not from external input.” Spock’s voice held a note of surprise and confusion.

     “You’re saying the ship’s computer did this?”

     “That is how it appears.” The Vulcan coughed, hands still moving over his board. “And it is coming from the original guidance computer, not from the _Ren shat’var_ redirect.”

     There was a pause, and Jim felt a jolt of sudden understanding over the bond. “Spock? What is it?”

     “Jim, the original computer was only able to be utilized upon direct telepathic contact with an _Eren’gha_ mind, which is how the advanced weapons and systems were able to be accessed by Siforit while his mind...was being controlled by the entity.”

     “Right... .”

     The Vulcan’s voice was audibly weakening, punctuated by rasping breaths. “When I...disrupted the mind-link between Siforit and the entity, the computer control was also disrupted and the connection to those advanced systems failed. However, it appears...the computer was still active.”

     “Can those weapons be turned back on?” Jim felt a wave of panic.

     “No, the power level...not sufficient for that. Sufficient to impact piggy-backed systems...engines, environmental, security... .”

     “Spock,” Jim interrupted, “are you saying that the entity somehow escaped into the computer?”

     The Vulcan turned to look at him, his eyes intense through the shadows of pain. “No, I felt it die. But...Siforit may have.”

     Jim’s eyes widened and he blinked. “That’s impossible.” The pain was pulsing stronger now, and a sensation of falling was transmitting across the bond, the mental heat from before turning strangely cold.

     Spock coughed again, leaning heavily against the board, blood leaking out of the corner of his mouth. “His mind was already in contact with the computer...remotely, through the...entity. A...form of _katric_ transfer...computer...designed for psionic interaction...Jim... .” His voice failed as his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped forward, falling out of the chair and sliding onto the floor.

     “Spock... .” Jim’s word turned into a rasping cry as the bond went dark and the harsh pain from his injuries returned with a vengeance. He was suddenly exhausted and gasping for breath through crushing agony, slipping out of his chair and pulling himself awkwardly over to his bondmate’s side as a high-pitched beeping began from the panels above, signaling a return communication. Jim reached inwardly for the bond.  _Stay with me, baby. Please stay with me._ The beeping came again, sounding far away, and Jim lifted his good hand, shaking with effort, to fumble for the proper switch.

     “...to hostile vessel. Maintain neutral posture and prepare to be boarded. Repeat, this is the _Chesapeake_. Any belligerent action will result in your destruction. Prepare to be boarded.”

     Jim’s raised arm slipped down to his side like dead weight. The pain was fading slightly and he was losing feeling in his limbs, his vision clouding, his consciousness narrowing. His gaze fell on the red light over the door and he managed to whisper into the sudden silence, “Thanks, anyway... .”

     Suddenly, a flash of light from the nearest wall, just beyond Spock’s limp body, caught his eye. It was part of the original elusivium wall surface, exposed, shining with a silvery gleam. Jim felt attracted to it somehow, and he pushed himself over, dragging his body just around his bondmate’s form to stop within arm’s reach of the wall. He took a deep breath, feeling the sharp pain of broken ribs, and stretched out his hand. The cool, smooth surface seemed to reach back, and Jim could feel a slippery feeling in his mind, and suddenly he was drawn in, diving into it, clinging to it, and a silvery light overtook his vision.

 

 

 

     “Sulu! I have the _Chesapeake_ on channel B!”

     Hikaru swung around to face Nyota. “Put them on, Uhura.”

     Nyota switched channels, and the sound of Lindstrom’s voice came over the speakers, “...calling _Enterprise_. Repeat, this is the _Chesapeake_. Come in, please.”

     Sulu punched the comm on his chair. “This is the _Enterprise_ , Acting Captain Sulu here. Go ahead _Chesapeake_.”

     “This is Captain Lindstrom. We’ve just boarded the _Eren’gha_ ship and are securing it. No sign of _Ren shat’var_ or anyone else so far. Now conducting a search for your people.”

     Sulu exchanged a glance with Nyota. “We’re on our way. Our engines are operating at thirty-five percent. Estimate ten hours present speed to your position.”

     “Acknowledged, _Enterprise_ , we’re...damn!” An alarm blared across the channel and they heard Lindstrom’s raised voice. “Get all personnel off that ship right now. Emergency transport protocols!”

     Another, muffled voice was heard. “Ninety seconds until detonation, ma’am.”

     Lindstrom came back on, “Stand by _Enterprise_ , we’ve got a situation here.”

     The channel went silent. Sulu’s hands were white where he was gripping the arms of the command chair. Nyota forced herself to breathe.

 

 


	14. Angel

Chapter Fourteen: Angel

 

 

     Jim was standing in the middle of a bright room. The walls seemed to be composed of the same smooth elusivium surface that he recognized from before. He looked down, holding his hands out in front of him. He was standing without pain, in his uniform, his skin unblemished and his tunic free of blood. A movement drew his gaze and he looked up to see a tall, familiar form.

     “You?” Jim blinked rapidly in disbelief.

     “You.” Siforit’s voice was calm, and he smiled. “Hello, James.” He was wearing the same black clothes from earlier, but he appeared uninjured, his gray eyes bright, his black hair sleekly pulled back from his untouched face.

     Jim narrowed his eyes and glanced around. “Am I dead?”

     The renegade Vulcan chuckled. “No. This is merely a mental projection within the _Eren’gha_ system. Spock’s analysis of my transfer was very close to being correct.”

     Jim stared at him. “Your _katra_? This seems like more than that.”

     “The computer system was designed for high-level telepathic communication. I did not intend this; the transfer proceeded almost automatically when the entity died, as a result of our previous connection: a fail-safe, if you would.”

     “But, you’re trapped here. In the ship. Your body... .”

     The projection of Siforit’s gray eyes was just as piercing. “ _Kaiidth_.”

     Jim felt his own sadness ripple out through the room in waves. “I’m sorry.”

     “I was gratified to be able to aid you and Spock. My sister’s preoccupation with revenge is regrettable.” He lowered his eyes. “Quite regrettable.”

     Jim turned, looking around the room again. The walls were largely featureless, except for a wide, shimmering patch. “What’s that?”

     “That is the way back to your bondmate, James. You cannot remain here.”

     Jim rubbed his hands together and grunted. “I’m probably almost dead by now.”

     Siforit shook his head. “Time is different here, milliseconds have passed, no more.” He stepped closer. “Your people have come to retrieve you. And you will no longer have to fear this ship or its technology.” The shimmering patch was growing slightly darker, appeared deeper.

     Jim’s hands dropped and he met Siforit’s eyes. “You’re going to destroy it, aren’t you?” He didn’t require an answer. “What about Karik?”

     “She has already fled. I believe the hour of the _Ren shat’var_ is over. Our hubris and our ignorance have been our undoing. I will atone for my own failed ambition and my lack of understanding.”

     Siforit took a breath and stepped forward again, reaching out a hand, touching two fingers gently to Jim’s wrist. “I name you my brother. It was my privilege to know you.”

     Jim stared at the small contact. A light shone briefly where their simulated skin touched, and remained even as Siforit drew back his hand. “What lack of understanding?” The captain’s voice sounded distant.

     “I thought that a _t’hy’la_ bond was simply a deep joining between compatible minds. I did not realize the most necessary component; that which truly defines you and your bondmate.”

     The shimmering surface on the wall had deepened to black, and Jim could feel himself being pulled. He resisted, his eyes asking the question.

     Siforit smiled again, and took a step back. “Love; I see now why such is requisite for the joining of two different souls.”

     The pull was becoming unstoppable, and Jim felt pain in his chest, blinking moisture from his eyes. “The honor was mine, my friend.”

     Siforit raised his hand. “Farewell, James.” His form was slowly disappearing into the steadily expanding brightness, and his gray eyes were the last things Jim saw before he was pulled back and away.

 

_He heard the steady beeping of medical monitors, the low voices of strangers around him, but half his mind was dark. The fire had gone out and he was alone. Cold. And so tired. He collapsed and it was like falling. Falling, falling, into nothing._

 

     “I don’t know what’s going on, Captain. He came through the surgery perfectly-everything’s healing. His vitals are just dropping out from under us, and I can’t stop it.”

     “What about Commander Spock?”

     “The same thing. The surgery was normal, except that we had to keep re-administering sedation. That wound was nasty, and whatever they did to it made it into a big mess, but I was able to fix it. His temperature is higher than it should be, though, his metabolism is burning up a storm, and his brain activity is off the charts. The one time he regained consciousness he was delirious, thrashing; I’m keeping him under and restrained. Overall, his vitals are steadily dropping, just like Kirk. Vulcans are supposed to go into a healing trance, but he’s not.”

     “Shit.”

     “Where’s the _Enterprise_? I need to speak to their CMO. We don’t have their full charts; there could be something we’re missing.”

     “She’s en route right now, ETA six hours as best we can tell; our comms were fried in the backwash from that explosion. Keep them alive, Ken. If Kirk dies on our watch there’ll be hell to pay.”

_The cold was deepening, the sense of loss overwhelming. His mate was somewhere, but the bond was dark and he could not see through the darkness. Glimpses, only, and they felt like tricks. He reached, but only grasped air. He cried out, but no one answered him._

 

     “Captain Lindstrom, I’m telling you there’s something else going on. Something must have happened on that ship. There is activity in Kirk’s brain where there shouldn’t be, and Spock keeps fighting that damn sedative. He was half out of his restraints before I was able to dose him again.”

     “Was he coherent?”

     “Not at all. Yelled something in Vulcan. He’s not completely healed, and if he moves around he’s going to start the bleeding again. His blood volume’s already too low; he’ll go into shock. I have to keep him down.”

     “Okay. Dominguez is working on our boards. When we’re able to transmit, I’ll call you up. But we’re not going to get any answers out of that alien ship; recovery crews are picking up bits and pieces, but the explosion pretty much wiped out anything substantial.”

     “We’re running out of time here.”

     “I know.”

_He was fading. He called out desperately one last time, hoping to be heard, hoping that the brief glimpses of his mate were not just an illusion, hoping... ._

 

    “I said, beam them both over to the _Enterprise_.”

     “Doctor McCoy, our facilities here are perfectly adequate for... .”

     “Do it, dammit, or you will lose them both.”

     “I believe you owe me an explanation... .”

     “Hansen, beam them the fuck over. Right fucking now!”

 

 

 

     Jim snapped awake, gasping, and immediately sensed the warm body of his mate next to him. He blinked and reached out, touching Spock’s face, feeling the fever-heat of his skin, taking in the soft greenish blush that colored his cheekbones. The bond was dark with his mate’s unconscious state, but even through the mental darkness Jim could feel radiant heat, could feel the pull of their minds together, felt the deep yearning. He heard a cough from someone nearby and slowly raised his head, becoming more aware of his immediate surroundings.

     He was in an isolation room in sickbay, lying next to his bondmate on a biobed, extended out into a double. Both he and Spock were dressed in standard black sickbay jumpsuits and covered with several blankets. The lights were dimmed, but Jim could make out the tall figure standing against the wall.

     “Hi, kid. Welcome home.” The doctor’s voice was full of emotion.

     “Bones.” Jim’s voice was rough, and he swallowed, his throat dry.

     McCoy looked worried, and his hazel eyes flickered over Jim’s features. “How do you feel?”

     Jim glanced at Spock again. “Better, I guess. Alive. What happened?”

     “The _Chesapeake_ picked you both out of there just before the ship self-destructed. Unfortunately, their comms went down, and it took us a while to get out to you, as we were still recovering full engine functionality.”

     Bones frowned and gestured loosely towards the ceiling. “We’re currently running alongside, on our way back to Earth.” He tilted his head. “What’s left of the _Ren shat’var_ fleet surrendered to the _Arredondo_ once the supership was destroyed.” At Jim’s surprised expression, the doctor snorted. “Yeah, they suddenly want to play nice with the Federation. Brisker’s escorting one of their vessels back to Command for negotiations.”

     The captain leaned his head back down on his pillow, forcing his mind to work. “Without that ship and with a good part of their fleet destroyed, they’re vulnerable to the Klingons or anyone else, never mind holding onto that sector.” A shiver ran down his spine as he remembered the alien who had taken possession of Siforit’s body. “Not that they needed it anymore. What they had sought was destroyed along with the ship.” He took a breath. “Did the _Chesapeake_ find anyone else, Bones?”

     McCoy’s brow furrowed and he shook his head. “No. No sign of your prisoner or anyone else.”

     Jim blinked, his jaw tightening, his voice barely a murmur. “So, she did get away.”

     The doctor was silent, and Jim exhaled, turning his head to regard his bondmate’s profile. “Is Spock alright, Bones?”

     His friend stepped closer, his eyes serious. “I don’t know, Jim. Their doctor thought he was doing the right thing, but it turned out to be pretty fucking bad, considering the real situation. He had you two separated, in different rooms, and kept Spock under pretty much the entire time. He told me that your Vulcan woke up once or twice and was incoherent and seemed violent.” The doctor’s mouth tightened. “I’ve put you together, but I’ve kept him under, as you can see. From the readings, M’Benga’s worried that he’s already in _plak tow_. He’s... .” McCoy stopped and glanced down briefly, taking a breath. “Jim, M’Benga’s worried about what’s going to happen if we let Spock wake up. The fact of you two being separated for a significant time, during this part of the fever, along with the additional physical and mental trauma, might lead him being completely uncontrolled. He could hurt you.”

     Jim shook his head emphatically, and then stopped as a wave of dizziness crashed over him. “He won’t hurt me, Bones.”

     “You don’t know that. You’re still healing, still weak. And that’s another thing; he could hurt himself. He was badly injured, Jim, and the _Chesapeake_ had no extra blood for him. He didn’t go into a trance. Any kind of exertion could break open the repairs.”

     McCoy crossed his arms in front of him, his expression startlingly desperate. “Jim, if we don’t do anything, he’s going to die. And if we let him wake up, he could die, too.” The doctor let out a sharp noise. “And your brain wave activity is mimicking his, even though he’s unconscious. Either way this goes, I don’t know what’s going to happen to you.”

     Bones had opened his mouth to continue when Jim held up his hand. “Bones. Wake him up.”

     “Jim, I don’t think you understand... .”

     Jim could feel that emptiness yawning in front of him again, pulling on his mind. He could feel, through his exhaustion, the pulse of anxious energy fluttering along his body, subdued but growing. And he abruptly decided that he didn’t want to wait anymore; they would face this head-on, together, as they had faced everything else. Forcing every bit of confidence, real and feigned, into his expression, he lifted his chin. “I know what I’m doing. Wake him up.” He paused. “We’ll be alone?”

     Bones exhaled strongly. “Yes. I’ll be outside, if you need me, but no one else but me or M'Benga will be able to get in.” He stepped closer, his eyes imploring. “Jim, are you sure? This could be your life.”

     Jim stared at his friend. “He’s my life, Bones. You’ve said it yourself.”

     McCoy’s eyes softened, and he swallowed, stepping up next to the bed, a hypo in his hand. Without another word he pressed it to Spock’s neck, and as the contents hissed, he held Jim’s eyes, deep emotion evident in his own. Finally, he turned, leaving the room. The soft beep of the privacy lock sounded loud in the sudden quiet, and Jim lay back down, on his side facing his mate, feeling the first surge of awareness pulse over the bond, feeling the heat inescapably encroach on his mind, feeling the growing energy throb along his body.

 

 


	15. When It's Over, You're The Start

Chapter Fifteen: When It’s Over, You’re The Start

 

 

     Dark eyes opened, and immediately sought Jim, focusing on him feverishly. The bond was an instant inferno, burning a widening swath between them, until Jim felt as if they had melded, yet still hadn’t touched. Powerful, helpless waves of emotion buffeted him. Overwhelming longing, deep love, a desperate need: all coalesced in Jim’s mind as if they had originated there. He felt a last, weakened attempt at control, a last grasp at rules that had served for a lifetime, before the rules burned along with every barrier that had ever existed.

     Jim felt his mate’s body shaking, saw wide, brown eyes hold fear and intensity but no violence, sensed burning pains suddenly shooting up and down his mate’s arms and legs, clenching his stomach. He felt Spock’s lingering exhaustion, wounds barely healed, blood not yet replenished, aching muscles. There was a dull, deep-seated pain in his chest, and Jim realized that his mate couldn’t control it, couldn’t help sharing it. He sensed a transferred thought that perhaps this was not real, and suddenly Jim could not simply feel anymore.

     “I’m here,” he whispered, leaning over to press his face into Spock’s neck, the skin fever hot, gently wrapping his arms around his mate’s shivering body. “I’m here.”

     At the contact, he heard a sharp, indrawn breath and felt Vulcan muscles tense. McCoy’s warning flitted through his mind and he felt his own panic threatening to rise before consciously pushing it away, letting himself relax, hearing his mate make a noise between a sob and a sigh. “Jim. _T’hy’la_.”

     Jim felt arms wrap around him in turn, felt their bodies press close, and closer still, legs entangling. He moved a hand up into soft, dark hair and moved his lips against hot skin, letting the tip of his tongue trace patterns on his mate’s neck. His own body shuddered, anxious energy running along his limbs, moving towards his groin. He slipped his other hand down, tugging at Spock’s clothes, gently working the fastener open and pulling the thin fabric from his body. He pulled away slightly, pressing a trembling hand against the angry greenish line remaining on his mate’s chest where the blade had entered, dark bruising coloring the skin around it. His own emotions flew across the expanded bondspace, crashing against Spock’s; love and desire, fear and guilt, possessiveness and passion. Brown eyes sought his, and Spock’s hand found his, slipping between Jim’s fingers and the lingering wound, holding tightly.

     Jim breathed in shakily, his voice a whisper. “I knew you wouldn’t hurt me. I knew we could do this.”

     Spock gazed at him, and then closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, his lips curving in a small, gentle smile.  _Ashayam. All that I am, is yours._

     Jim slid his own hands along his clothing, removing it, feeling his own lingering ache as muscles stretched across his chest and arm, stressing barely-healed bone. He moved forward, and their naked skin pressed together, their lips meeting, finally, opening to each other, and Jim’s heart raced at the taste of his mate’s mouth. He felt Spock sink against him, felt the instant when the burning sensations radiating along his mate’s body moved into bright, seemingly unquenchable desire. Their mutual, helpless, arousal was accompanied by dizziness and a deepening fatigue, and they clung together, desperately.

     Jim broke the kiss, his head swimming from the pounding of their heightened emotions, from the heat radiating from his mate’s body. He leaned his head back, his breath coming in gasps. Spock made a soft noise, his head falling against Jim’s chest. They could both sense it, the undeniable need in each of their bodies, and no matter their exhaustion or their injuries, it would crest over them, relentless, terrifying, holding nothing back.

     “It’s alright.” Jim leaned forward and murmured into dark hair, “It’s alright.” He grasped Spock’s hand, bringing it to his face, his thoughts finding his mate’s.  _Take from me, t’hy’la, please_.

     The light meld seemed like an impossible widening of their blown-open connection, and Jim felt his energy stream across the link, as Spock had shared his own so many times before. He sensed his mate’s strength return, just enough, and then the meld deepened, and Jim fell into his mate’s mind.

 

 

_The lake was alive, unstable, boiling. Vast currents moved around them, hot water hissed and spat. Below them, the cracks had widened, and brilliant light shifted within the fissures, rising towards them. There was no shore, no sky, nothing but the approaching heat._

 

     Jim lay on his back, his mate moving within and against his body, heated skin made slippery with human sweat. He was achingly hard and arched upwards, rolling his hips and hearing his mate’s choked gasps. Their hands were clasped together, fingers entwined, and though Jim’s psi points were untouched, he could feel everything, their minds connected. The profound fatigue and pain had fallen away in favor of a building, helpless pleasure, growing in the movement of one to the other.

_The fissures had yawned into canyons, and the light was beckoning and they could not escape. The heat was surrounding them, consuming them, and everything was burning._

 

     The meld was deepening and shallowing all on its own, as if a reflection of the ebb and flow of their coupling. Their pleasure had washed over them twice, and still they were powerless against the forceful, consuming need. Spock was behind him now, as they lay on their sides, and Jim reached back, grabbing into dark hair as he felt his mate’s mouth move along his shoulder and neck, felt his mate’s hand slide to grip the human’s straining organ. They were on the edge. Jim could sense it, hovering along the boundaries of their minds. He saw flashes of light, pressed his hips back into faltering thrusts, and felt his bondmate softly cry out against his skin as they came yet again.

_The brilliant lights were upon them, the impossible rush of flame, and he could feel them slipping, falling towards a dangerous place. There was nothing but heat, and though their bodies were together, there was a sense of being dragged slowly apart._

 

     Spock slipped out of his body, and Jim turned, with halting, slow movements, to face him. The meld was drifting, howling, yearning for elusive completion and the pain and exhaustion had returned and was swallowing them and though their bodies screamed, Jim knew that Spock’s strength had been depleted, and that his own energy was waning. They had nothing left.

     They stared into each other’s eyes as the meld wavered and threatened to break, and Jim knew, somehow, that if that happened, they would both be lost to the flames. He could barely move, but found the energy to grasp his mate’s hands and bring them to his face, pushing his mind forward with graceless, steadfast determination. Human stubbornness and a unique will slammed through them both and, as Spock’s fingers made contact, Jim felt a charge run along their bodies and the bondspace soared.

     Jim’s eyes were now closed, but all he saw was light. He could feel his mate’s presence moving into him, within him, felt a merging that was deeper than any before. He sensed yet another approaching wave, but this time not of physical pleasure, but of the feeling of home, of life, of the depth of unfathomable love. And as it crashed over him and they were lifted together, he knew no difference between them.

_The heat had disappeared, dissolved into gentle, pervasive warmth. Everywhere there was light. And then colors appeared, images too quick to be recognized, feelings of familiarity, nostalgia, yearning, grief, joy, heartache, love. The images flashed past them and yet surrounded them, and they were a part of them. Lifetimes before and after, never and always together._

 

 

 

 

     Leonard sat in the small anteroom inside the isolation ward, his head in his hands, determined to remain until this ended. He had sat there for over four hours, his thoughts racing around and around and never ending anywhere good. He hadn’t exaggerated his reservations to Jim, and he couldn’t shake the feeling of sickening grief that had persisted since his best friend and the hobgoblin had taken off in that blasted shuttle. He remembered touching Spock’s shoulder, then, and telling him to take care of Jim, knowing that he was communicating so much more through their contact. And his heart ached as he realized that neither Spock, nor he, might be truly capable of protecting their friend now. Leonard had shut off the visual monitors, and had silenced the alarms; only the scrolling readouts gave evidence to what was occurring in the adjacent room.

     Red lights suddenly flashed above one of the panels and Leonard glanced up, his chest tightening as he realized that their heart rates and respiration had fallen to dangerous levels. The biomonitors showed extremely energetic and synchronized brain activity, but physical functioning was declining. Setting his jaw and grabbing the emergency medkit, Leonard rose to his feet and keyed in his override for the door.

     The room itself was in semi-darkness, and there was no movement from the bed in the center of the room. Leonard walked forward swiftly, scanner out, hearing the doors slide shut again and lock behind him. Their clothing had fallen to the floor, and blankets covered them below the waist. They lay on their sides, facing each other, and both Spock’s hands were on Jim’s face, the captain’s hands lightly resting atop his mate’s. Their eyes were closed, and both were smiling, and all Leonard could think was how wrong he had been, how wrong they all had been. There had been intense physical joining, that much had been apparent from the readings on the monitors, but the loss of barriers, the feared absence of any control, was actually a total loss of self into someone else. Terrifying in itself, and probably more so for a Vulcan whose life had been governed by resistance to emotional expression and such deliberate intimacy.

     The beep of his scanner brought Leonard’s eyes away from his friend’s faces, and he drew in a sharp breath, moving closer. Spock was bleeding internally, and badly, and Jim’s vitals were falling right alongside his mate’s. Leonard flipped open his communicator, calling directly to M’Benga. The other doctor acknowledged, and moments later, the doors slid open and shut again, admitting the specialist.

     Leonard’s voice was terse. “The exertion opened up one of the repairs along the midline. Can we separate them during a meld?”

     M’Benga stared at his own scanner. “No choice.” He glanced up, a look of surprise on his face. “The fever’s broken already. The effect of the pre-existing trauma must have been to shorten the cycle somehow.”

     “Thank heaven for that. Get a sterile field and portable table ready. I can do the repair here if you assist. Having Jim close by might help.” M’Benga nodded and exited swiftly, and Leonard turned back to his friends. He hesitated, and then reached out and touched Spock’s forehead. The Vulcan’s skin was unnaturally cool. “Spock, can you hear me? You have to come out of it. You’re losing blood and you’re weakening. Both of you are weakening. You have to wake up. Please.”

     For a long moment, Leonard felt panic rise, and then the Vulcan’s smile faded and dark eyes blinked open. His hands fell away from his mate’s psi points and his head rolled back weakly. Jim’s expression changed to the gentle neutrality of sleep, and his body relaxed. Leonard glanced at his scanner and nodded as the human’s vital functions started to improve almost immediately.

     “Good,” he murmured, hearing the doors slide open again and M’Benga pushed a portable operating table through. Leonard gently supported Spock’s shoulders as the Vulcan slowly moved onto his back. “We’re going to try to fix the tear here, so you’re close to Jim, but we have to put you out. Okay?”

     Slightly unfocused brown eyes met Leonard’s hazel ones and Spock made a small nod.

     “Okay.” Leonard reached back for the hypo M’Benga passed over and administered the anesthesia. Spock’s eyes closed almost immediately. The two doctors exchanged a glance and Leonard gestured. “Let’s move him over.”

 

 

 

     Jim had dreamed of cold rain sluicing down the windows of his childhood home in Iowa. Windows that separated him from the reaching darkness that extended over the flat country surrounding him. He could feel the dream pass and awareness take over, gradually felt the warmth and solid form of the body lying next to him. And he gasped awake, suddenly, remembering the meld, remembering the sense of profound joining, the existential feeling of destiny, of continuity with the past and the future. As his vision cleared, he searched his thoughts, feeling the warm darkness that he identified as his mate’s mind in sleep, or trance. He turned his head, taking in Spock’s profile in the low light, seeing the pale skin and dark circles under his eyes, the way his hair was brushed gently away from his forehead. He looked down, taking in the clean sheets and clothing, and took a deep breath, searching his own body’s responses, finding no trace of the nervous energy that had plagued him, no sense of that strange burning sensation along the bond. He was tired, and sore, but calm.

     He heard the sound of the door sliding open, and lifted his head to take in McCoy, standing with his arms crossed, and a soft smile on his face.

     “Hey, Bones.” His voice was a bare whisper, and he let his head fall back onto the pillow, exhausted by the minute effort.

     The doctor walked over and looked down at him. “You look like shit, kid.”

     Jim managed a half-smile. “I told you we’d make it.”

     McCoy’s smile faded. “Your bondmate was bleeding out at one point. We had to operate again.”

     A wave of panic swept over the captain, and he turned his head to look at Spock again, feeling dizziness wash over him at the rapid movement. “Is he alright?”

     McCoy nodded. “Yeah. He went into a healing trance as soon as the anesthesia wore off.” The doctor tilted his head. “I had to bring him out of a meld to do the repair; you didn’t wake up, though. Your head feel okay?”

     Jim swallowed. “I think so.”

     The doctor grunted. “Well, your detail scans show that something’s changed. You know how we found additional synaptic pathways in parts of your brain associated with latent telepathy right after you two bonded? Now, those areas show even more development.” He jerked his chin at Spock. “And in his brain, too: actual physiological changes. M’Benga says he’s never seen anything like it.”

     Jim frowned and McCoy peered at him. “You’re not going to spontaneously combust or something, are you?”

     The captain snorted lightly and saw the smile return to the doctor’s face. McCoy scratched his head. “Talk to Spock about it when he wakes up. They’re going to want to know exactly what happened to you on that ship.” He rolled his eyes. “Can’t wait for that debrief, by the way.”

     “They?”

     Bones raised an eyebrow. “We’re two hours from space dock. Command’s been lighting up the boards demanding your report. I told them, politely, of course, and using appropriate medical terminology, to fuck off.”

     “Shit.”

     “Yeah, and that’s not all. The cat’s out of the bag with regard to your bond. That ship was hours from Earth before you did whatever you did to stop it. Full-scale evacuations were proceeding, and Starfleet had amassed all its remaining ships to protect the planet. Even before our own preliminary reports were in, the media had caught wind that you and Spock had been onboard that vessel and were responsible for stopping it after the primary offensive failed. And it was a hop, skip, and a jump to someone leaking your relationship. Like it or not, you two are photogenic world-saving heroes again. And this time, you’re in love.”

     “Fuck.”

     “You probably should practice something more eloquent for your press release.”

     “Fuck you?”

     McCoy threw his head back in laughter.

 

 

 

Chapter End Notes:

 

The title is a lyric from the song "No Light, No Light" by Florence and the Machine. While the lyric itself fits very well for this chapter, the entire song was the inspiration for another of my stories, "Darkly".

 

 


	16. Home Is Never How We Left It

Chapter Sixteen: Home Is Never How We Left It

 

 

     Jim had stubbornly managed to get himself on his feet, under the sonics, and back into uniform, appearing on the bridge just as the _Enterprise_ approached space dock. The alpha shift crew had jumped to their feet, surprised exclamations rising in the air as Jim had emerged from the turbolift, McCoy a half-step behind him, hovering protectively. Jim inclined his head, a smile on his face. His smile widened as he saw Nyota beam at him, and he waved his hand as Sulu moved to vacate the command chair. “As you were, Mr. Sulu.”

     Sulu nodded and sat back down. “How are you, sir? And Mr. Spock?”

     Jim’s smile faded slightly. “I’m getting there. Mr. Spock is also recovering.”

     Scott stepped forward from where he stood next to the Engineering console, holding his hand out. “’Tis good ta’ have ye back, sir.”

     “Thanks, Scotty.” Jim clasped his hand, meeting his friend’s warm gaze.

     Uhura’s voice rose from Jim’s right, “Sir, docking control reports we are cleared for final approach.”

     Sulu nodded, turning his attention back to the docking procedure. “Slow to point one impulse, prepare all moorings. Take us in, Mr. Tate.”

     “Aye, sir.”

     The port loomed in the viewscreen as the _Enterprise_ swung smoothly around, and Jim closed his eyes briefly, savoring the sounds of his ship being brought safely home.

     “All moorings activated and secure.” Uhura turned around in her chair. “Sir, Admiral Fitzpatrick requests communication.”

     “Put him on, please, Lieutenant.” Sulu straightened his shoulders visibly.

     The viewscreen wavered and Fitzpatrick’s face came into view. “Acting Captain Sulu, welcome home.”

     “Thank you, sir, on behalf of the crew.”

     The admiral took a breath as if to say something else and then peered into the screen. “Captain Kirk! I’m surprised to see you on your feet after the reports I’ve had from your CMO.”

     Jim made a move to step forward and then thought better of it as dizziness washed over him and McCoy grasped his upper arm. “Yes, sir. I wouldn’t say he’s too happy about it, but I didn’t want to miss coming in.”

     Fitzpatrick narrowed his eyes, and Jim could almost feel the challenging glare McCoy was leveling. “No doubt.” The admiral leaned back in his chair. “Do you feel up to an informal debrief? I’ve had reports coming in from everywhere except from you and your first officer, and you’re the ones who were actually there.”

     Jim opened his mouth but Bones made a disapproving noise next to him. Fitzpatrick looked amused. “Listen, we’ll come to you and we’ll keep it short, but this needs to happen soon. The _Arredondo’s_ due in the next six hours with that _Ren shat’var_ ship, and we’ve got to have our act together.”

     The captain nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll be ready. Commander Spock is still unconscious, however. His report will have to wait.”

     Fitzpatrick furrowed his brow, but nodded. “We’ll signal for beam-up in fifteen minutes; please have your transporter room standing by. Fitzpatrick out.”

     The screen flicked back to the docking port, and Jim turned to look at Bones, raising an eyebrow. “We?”

 

 

 

     The doors to the main briefing room swished open and Jim squared his shoulders from where he sat directly opposite, across the table. As Fitzpatrick entered, Jim made a motion as if to stand, and was stopped by both the admiral’s wave and McCoy’s iron grip on his arm.

     “As you were, Jim.” Fitzpatrick walked in, and Jim was tempted to stand again when the tall, elegant figure of Ambassador Sarek followed him through. A third man was with them, a shorter, pale figure in a dark gray suit, with blond, almost white hair. The admiral waved the other two men towards chairs and sat down himself across the table from Jim as the door slid shut. “Captain Kirk, I believe you already are acquainted with Ambassador Sarek of New Vulcan,” Fitzpatrick’s eyes held a hint of humor. “And this is Federation Commissioner Ulu Andrus, special liaison to the Committee for Starfleet Governance.”

     Jim nodded to both, raising the _ta’al_ to his bondmate’s father. “Gentlemen. Welcome aboard the _Enterprise_. Commissioner, my CMO, Leonard McCoy.” As the others exchanged greetings, Jim reached along the bond, feeling the same dark warmth as before. Spock was still in a healing trance and, according to M’Benga, may remain as such for some time. Not only was he healing from the mental and physical damage from their ordeal on the supership, but also from the inherent depletion of _pon farr_. Jim sensed Sarek’s scrutiny, and clenched his jaw. The ambassador had reluctantly accepted his son’s _t’hy’la_ , but had never really approved of their bonding. Jim was not looking forward to a discussion of this latest development in their relationship.

     Fitzpatrick cleared his throat, flicking his stylus over his PADD. “So, like I said before, we’re keeping this informal. I’ll need official reports from both you and Commander Spock once able, but I’d like to hear an unofficial version now. Let’s start from when you and Mr. Spock departed on the shuttlecraft with the _Ren shat’var_ prisoner; I think everything up to that point has been covered by the official logs and secondary reports.”

     “Yes, sir.” Jim took a breath, sensing McCoy lean back in his chair next to him, and began.

 

 

 

     Almost an hour later, Jim paused, folding his hands in the table in front of him. “When I regained consciousness, I was back on the _Enterprise_ , sir.”

     Fitzpatrick was eyeing his PADD. “Doctor Hansen on the _Chesapeake_ reported that both you and Commander Spock were exhibiting significant physical decline and, as he termed it, ‘abnormal brain wave patterns’, even after successful surgical intervention. He also reported that your CMO was quite,” he cleared his throat, “ _forceful_ about the two of you being transported immediately back to this ship. Doctor McCoy, would you care to comment on what happened there?”

     Bones had crossed his arms in front of his chest. “That situation falls under doctor-patient confidentiality, Admiral.”

     Fitzpatrick looked up, and Andrus leaned forward. The admiral glanced at Jim. “Captain?”

     Jim’s eyes flickered to Sarek and then back to the admiral. “I regret I cannot answer your question at this time, sir.”

     Fitzpatrick’s expression hardened. “Jim, this could be a question of your continued command fitness. You already testified that the alien entity was in the process of attempting to take over your mind when your first officer killed it, and the others, by utilizing the mental bond that you share. Now, I hear phrases like ‘unexpected brain development’ and ‘unexplained synchronized physical decline’, and I start to imagine that perhaps something was done to you, and to Spock, that you maybe aren’t aware of yet.”

     There was an intense silence in the room, and Jim exhaled softly. “Admiral, the decline you described was due to a pre-existing condition that was worsened because of the extreme mental and physical stress that Commander Spock experienced on that ship.”

     Fitzpatrick glanced at McCoy, but Jim held up a hand. “This condition involves our status as bondmates and is a carefully-guarded aspect of Vulcan culture that... .”

     “Admiral,” Sarek interrupted, “I am aware of the condition the captain is describing, and support his discretion. I believe that consultation with a Vulcan healer would provide evidence that neither officer’s mind is being unduly influenced.”

     The ambassador’s tone had a hint of sharpness, and his expression invited no protest. Fitzpatrick glanced again at McCoy and rubbed his forehead. “Alright, Ambassador. I think that the suggestion of involving a healer is a good one, considering.”

     Sarek inclined his head. “There is currently a healer in residence at the New Vulcan Embassy, Admiral, and I could arrange for an examination upon my son’s recovery. Will that be acceptable?”

     Fitzpatrick nodded, making a note on his PADD, and Jim leaned back in his chair, a growing sense of fatigue making him feel slightly disoriented. Across the table, however, Andrus looked furious. “I’m not willing to let this go, Admiral. We still have not discussed that fact that these two officers were bonded in the first place, which is in and of itself highly irregular. For a command team to be so involved may mean emotional compromise, impacted decision-making, and a disregard for regulations. It may mean the loss of life. In fact, I would argue that all of the aforementioned consequences have already occurred in this most recent crisis! And, quite honestly, I am shocked that their status has gone so long uncontested by the admiralty.”

     Andrus jammed a finger onto the tabletop. “The bond these two men share appears to be the inspiration for this entire present debacle, if the security tapes from the interview with their RSV prisoner are to be believed.” He sniffed. “A prisoner who apparently vanished under mysterious circumstances after the failed offensive that Kirk here orchestrated.” His eyes narrowed. “I believe, Admiral, that the only _acceptable_ course of action is to take up these issues within the context of a disciplinary forum.”

     McCoy’s expression was fierce, and Jim opened his mouth to respond, but Fitzpatrick simply looked tired. “Let me get this straight, Commissioner. You want me to court martial Captain Kirk and Commander Spock for fraternization and conspiracy after they just saved Earth and the Federation yet again?” He snorted lightly. “I imagine you’ll want your name front and center on the paperwork.”

     The commissioner flinched, but kept his chin belligerently raised. “Yes, Admiral.”

     Fitzpatrick placed his stylus on the tabletop, his casual air gone, and an icy intensity in his eyes. “Listen to me very carefully. The reason that bond existed in the first place was to keep valuable Starfleet intelligence from enemy hands in the face of certain torture. These officers are our best command team, as they have demonstrated in crisis after crisis, both internal and external. They’ve put their lives on the line for their crew and this service time and again, only to be threatened and denounced.” He leaned forward. “I’ll resign my commission before I put them through any more of this crap, and I’m pretty sure there will be a long line of people following me that will do the same. Any questions?”

     Andrus’ face looked like it was carved from stone, but he shook his head. “No, Admiral, that will be all for now, I should think.”

     Fitzpatrick huffed. “I think you’re finished here, Commissioner. Why don’t you find your way back to the transporter room.”

     Andrus hesitated, but Fitzpatrick deliberately turned away, and Sarek’s gaze was forbidding. Coloring slightly, the commissioner stood, gathering his dignity about him, and left the room.

     As the doors slid shut, the admiral shifted in his seat. “Sorry about that, Jim. You knew there were some who weren’t too excited about your bond, or your influence with the Council. Well, Andrus demanded that he attend this debrief, however informal, and now I know why. I’m not sure what he thinks he’s going to gain with attacking you now, but I’ll make sure to keep an eye on him.”

     Jim couldn’t help slumping slightly in his seat. “No problem, Admiral.”

     Fitzpatrick looked him over and nodded. “I think I’ve got all I need for the moment. Ambassador Sarek will be taking the lead on negotiations with the _Ren shat’var_ , and I’ll contact you about the repairs to _Enterprise_. I’ll want her back out as soon as possible, but not without a good long shore leave first. I think you and your people have damn well earned it.”

     He stood to leave and glanced down at Sarek, who remained seated. “I believe I will remain to see after my son.”

     “Of course.” Fitzpatrick nodded again and left, the doors sliding closed behind him.

     McCoy glanced from Jim to Sarek and stood. “I’ll head down to sickbay and meet you there.” His pointed look darkened. “Jim, take it easy. I mean it.”

     Sarek glanced over at the doctor. “I shall assume responsibility for the captain’s safety. Our discussion will not take long.”

     “Right.” Bones glanced again at Jim and let out a sigh, stepping out around the table and stiffly leaving the room.

     Sarek’s black eyes were more intense than Jim had ever seen, and the older Vulcan stared at his son’s bondmate for several seconds before speaking, his voice quiet. “Am I to understand that my son has experienced his first Time in the midst of this crisis?”

     “Yes.” Jim shifted awkwardly in his chair, his body starting to ache as the painkillers Bones had given him began to subside. The disorientation was worsening, not only from the remaining fatigue from his ordeal, but also from the continuing quiet along the bond, and Sarek’s intimidating demeanor was not helping.

     The Vulcan looked down at the table, and when his gaze returned to meet Jim’s, the captain saw some strong emotion fleetingly reflected there. “You have fulfilled your duty as his _telsu_.”

     Jim felt a twinge of surprise. “Did you think that I wouldn’t?” Ignoring the tiredness and discomfort of his body he leaned forward, irritation blooming.

     “You are a man of strong and loyal character, Captain, but you are human. You are not inherently compatible with the requirements of the lifebonds natural to Vulcans. I am grateful for your discretion, and for your tolerance. I know this bonding was not your choice, despite your compatibility with my son.”

     Jim stared at him, incredulous. “What did you think was going on all this time? That I was just... _tolerating_ him after being forcibly bonded? Doing my duty?” The captain’s head swam, overcome with a sudden wave of frustration and anger.

     Sarek simply looked at him, his expression now a complete mask. “I do not understand, Captain. Duty is the fundamental tenet of a successful Vulcan bond, as your recent experience must have informed you.”

     Jim looked away, his mind instinctively seeking his bondmate’s, and still meeting thick darkness.

     The ambassador continued, raising an eyebrow archly, “Your bonding was ultimately logical, as you are _t’hy’la_ , but I did not expect you, at that time, to recognize the duties inherent in the designation. Your conduct, therefore, is... .”

     “Sir,” Jim interrupted, his own voice sounding weak in his ears, “I can sense his thoughts, even if we’re not touching. I can communicate with him across our bond. I can feel what he feels.”

     Jim remembered something Spock had said to him before, something that was entirely _right._  “I know his mind as I know my own. To say that my actions as his bondmate stem from a sense of duty alone is incredibly insufficient.”

     “Indeed.” Sarek’s reply had a touch of dryness.

     “Yeah,” Jim answered defiantly, pushing himself abruptly to his feet. The room spun around him, and he gripped the table desperately, suddenly wanting nothing more than to lie down next to Spock’s warm body and rest. His hands slipped, and he felt himself caught and eased back down into the chair, heard a voice call over the loudspeaker for assistance. His vision wavered in and out, and he mentally grasped for his mate, feeling panic rise beneath the disorientation. Suddenly there was a rush of activity at his side and the cold press of a hypo against his neck. As if from far away he heard his friend’s voice. “Just go to sleep, Jim. It’ll be okay.” And he fell into darkness.

 

 

 

     Jim came back to awareness slowly, keeping his eyes shut, basking in the mental warmth of his bondmate’s now-conscious presence. The bond felt different between them. Instead of a focused stream of selective thoughts and emotions, it was broader and more diffuse, and now seemed, if not all-encompassing, then all-discerning. He could feel it reaching throughout his mind, and he did not shrink from it.

_Hey, baby._

_Ashayam._ Spock’s mental voice resonated like quicksilver through his mind and Jim grinned, finally opening his eyes and turning his head, seeing his bondmate, dressed in his uniform blacks, sitting next to his bed, back in the isolation room. His mind was filled with Spock’s impressions, dancing through his mind as a subtle echo of his own perceptions. It was nuanced, delicate, a sharp contrast to the driving crash and swell of Spock’s emotions as the fever had approached. He briefly saw himself as his bondmate did: blue eyes and dynamic energy, strength and light. And if he looked closer, he saw the barest glimpses of what they had experienced in the deep meld, places in their minds where they fit so well together that it seemed almost as though the bond were a superposition instead of a conduit.

     Jim’s voice was rough. “You okay?” He could feel already that his bondmate had healed, but Spock humored him with a slight nod. The captain blinked and cleared his throat. “No problems with Sarek?”

     Confusion slipped between them, echoed in Spock’s dark eyes. “I do not understand.”

     Jim swallowed and sat up, stretching his back. He glanced up at the chrono over the door and his eyes widened; he had been out for over eight hours. His thoughts washed through the bond as he turned back to face his mate.

     “I emerged from the healing trance four point two hours ago, Jim. The doctor considered it necessary for you to continue to sleep. He informed me that Admiral Fitzpatrick and my father came aboard to conduct an informal debriefing.” A faint line appeared between upswept brows. “You and my father had a discussion.”

     Jim snorted, shifting to cross his legs in front of him and stretching his arm as the stiff muscles twinged. “You could call it that, I guess. But he didn’t come see you?”

     “Not that I am aware. Which may explain Doctor McCoy’s rather obvious irritation.”

     The captain pressed his lips together. “Cold bastard.” At Spock’s raised eyebrow, he shook his head. “He basically thanked me for my tolerance and discretion in seeing you through the fever. He acted like it was merely an unpleasant duty to be fulfilled.”

     “Duty would be paramount in my father’s mind.”

     Jim watched his bondmate closely. Spock’s face displayed its usual impassivity, but his eyes revealed some small distress. And with the subtle changes to the bond, Jim could perceive directly that Spock’s unease was related to Sarek, and to thoughts of his mother. Wanting suddenly to change the subject, Jim made a gesture towards the PADD that was resting on Spock’s lap. “So, fill me in on what’s been going on. Ship’s status?”

     Spock’s posture straightened. “The ship has been secured and repair crews are assessing the remaining structural damage in order to estimate required downtime. Interim command has been transferred to the docking master, and sectional debriefings are in progress, with crewmembers then proceeding planetside to aid in the maintenance of civil order as the evacuation transports return. I have submitted my official report of the actions surrounding the destruction of the supership, and have spoken with T’Lerit, a Vulcan healer recently assigned as a consultant to the Federation Council and presently in residence at the New Vulcan Embassy. She has agreed to provide an examination of both of our minds to satisfy the admiral’s expressed reservations about continued mental coercion.”

     Spock tilted his head. “The _Arredondo_ has assumed a long-range orbit, in armed escort to the _Ren shat’var_ ship, and I believe a dialogue began almost immediately with the Federation Council representative.”

     “Sarek,” Jim interrupted, his voice low.

     “Yes, sir. Initial debrief from Captain Brisker indicates that the remainder of the RSV fleet remains in Federation space under gunship supervision, awaiting the conclusion of negotiations. Because of the _Ren shat’var’s_ heritage, New Vulcan will assume the lead in setting terms. The majority of RSV ships are presumed lost, and Captain Brisker reported that their mercenary allies apparently deserted upon the supership’s defection. The _Eren’gha_ outpost in Beta has been secured. Additionally, the Klingons have moved to re-take their lost sector.”

     “The Klingons are going to go right for that outpost.”

     “Captain Brisker’s report indicated that during the discussion of the group’s surrender, the RSV leaders revealed that they had destroyed the outpost in the disputed sector after the alien entity decimated their fleet, as a final attempt to destroy the entity. There has been no sign of Karik, nor her associates. They had apparently fled the supership before the _Chesapeake_ party boarded, taking Siforit’s body with them.”

     Jim’s jaw tightened. “I’m pretty sure we haven’t seen the last of her.”

     Spock remained silent, but the bond shimmered with a pulse of protective anger. This time, however, there was no sharp repression or imposition of controls. The emotion merely drifted across the bond and diffused away. The captain smiled.  _That’s more like it._

     Warmth brightened in brown eyes, and Jim tilted his head invitingly. Spock stood smoothly, placing the PADD on his seat behind him, and stepped forward. Their eyes met and Jim’s smile widened as his Vulcan gently pressed their lips together. The expanse of the bond widened even further as they touched, and gained a clarity that Jim had only ever before experienced in a light meld. The kiss was soft, and tender, their mouths opening as Jim leaned in towards his mate’s warmth. One of Spock’s hands came up and stroked through Jim’s hair, and the other cradled his jaw, and Jim sighed into Vulcan heat and strength. They stayed together for several minutes and then Spock gently pulled back, his eyes studying Jim’s face intently, his hands slowly dropping to his sides. “I must inform the doctor that you are awake. I anticipated that you would want to see the healer as soon as possible, and we are expected.”

     “Yeah, I guess.” Jim’s response was subdued. He still felt a strong impulse to remain close to his bondmate.

     Spock lowered his eyes briefly. “And my father’s expression of gratitude was not misplaced. I am grateful to you, as well.”

     Jim reached forward to brush his hand through dark hair, lightly caressing a pointed ear. He pushed his own gratitude and love across their bond. “Yeah, well, you saved my life. Again.”

     “Jim, I... .”

     The captain shook his head gently and smiled, amusement flickering along their connection. “The least you could do is take me out to dinner.”

     Brown eyes met his, and Jim felt his mate’s mental smile. “I shall be honored, _ashayam_.”

 

 

 

     Jim blinked into the low light of the transporter room at the New Vulcan Embassy. They had beamed there directly, after being released by McCoy, and would meet with T’Lerit before proceeding to Headquarters. As far as Jim knew, Sarek, already deeply involved with negotiations with the _Ren shat’var_ representatives, had not been in contact again regarding his son’s recovery. That fact alone was fueling the captain’s anger, which simmered within his mind and along their bond, and he noticed that Spock had not attempted to dissuade him from it.

     A young human woman stood just inside the door, and raised the _ta’al._  “Welcome to the New Vulcan Embassy, gentlemen. My name is Meghan Lee and I am one of the assistants to Ambassador Sarek. If you would follow me, I’ll escort you to your meeting with Lady T’Lerit.”

     Jim felt a surge of deep emotion flit across the bondspace, shooting a quick, concerned glance at his mate as he sensed surprise and sadness. _What is it?_

_I believe my father has taken a new bondmate._

     Spock did not meet his eyes, and Jim frowned as he stepped off the platform, Spock following. _He would have told you. Right?_

_Not necessarily, t’hy’la. My father has not seen fit to contact me regarding any matters since we last departed Earth._

     The young woman did not look offended at their silence, nor at Jim’s increasingly dark expression, but simply gestured for them to follow her as she left through the doorway and turned down the expansive corridor. Their footfalls were muffled against the rich carpeting, and Jim was struck by the utter silence around him. He also noticed that everyone they passed in the hall appeared to be human. It was a striking reminder of what had been lost to Nero’s rage.

     Lee led them to a set of large doors and palmed the adjacent panel. The doors swept open and the young woman stepped back and to the side, gesturing them to enter. Jim stepped through first, followed by his bondmate, and the doors quietly swung shut behind them. They were in a large room, with the windows largely opaqued, the same rich carpeting extending even here. Three chairs were set up in the middle of the room, and, standing next to the seats, was a tall Vulcan woman wearing traditional robes.

     She raised the _ta’al_ , and both Jim and Spock did the same. As her hand lowered, her eyes flicked from one to the other. “I extend welcome to you, Spock, son of Sarek, and to you, James Kirk, bondmate to Spock. I come to serve.”

     Spock inclined his head. “Your service honors us, T’Lerit.” He paused. “Am I to understand that you are now bonded to my father?”

     “Indeed.” When Spock remained silent, T’Lerit gestured towards the chairs. “Be seated.”

     Jim raised his eyebrows, but followed Spock forward and took a seat next to his bondmate, facing T’Lerit, who gracefully sat down and placed her hands on her lap. Spock’s mind was suddenly carefully controlled, almost defensively so, and Jim tensed, crossing his arms in front of him, his protective instincts firing.

     T’Lerit was watching Spock closely. “Your father requested that I, as a healer, touch your mind, and that of your bondmate’s, in order to verify that no injury or foreign presence remains. I shall then present my findings to your commanding officer. Is this acceptable?”

     Jim spoke up, “Yes, ma’am, that’s why we’re here.”

     T’Lerit’s eyes moved to Jim and then back to Spock. “Affirmative. Spock, may I have your thoughts?”

     Keeping his silence, Spock merely leaned forward, and T’Lerit raised her hand, touching the half-Vulcan’s psi points gently. Jim, concentrating along the bond, could feel the meld initiate, and sensed the healer’s neutral presence in his mate’s mind. It was not invasive, and he sensed her clinical evaluation. Despite himself, he felt his tension increase, felt a possessive instinct to push back against her mind, similar to how he had felt the last time a healer had touched his friend. His arms tightened across his chest as he sensed her examination of their bond, and he felt her astonishment. The meld broke, and she pulled her hand back. “It is true, then. You are _t’hy’la_.” Her voice held the barest tremor.

     “Affirmative.” Spock looked at her evenly.

     She blinked, and took an obvious breath before turning to Jim. “Captain, may I have your thoughts?”

     Jim glanced at Spock before leaning forward, as his bondmate had done, moving his hands to grip his knees. Her fingers touched his face, and he involuntarily tensed, again, feeling his mate’s emotions swirl into their bondspace as his controls faltered. Her mind-touch was not threatening, though, and he felt the same objective perusal before her mind hesitated again at their bond and Jim felt a deep curiosity. She withdrew, and Jim leaned back in his chair.

     She placed her hands back on her lap. “Your minds are sound, as is your bond. I sense no outside presence or contamination, or evidence of permanent injury. Spock, your control is not as it should be, due to the pervasive emotional influence of your bondmate’s mind as well as your recent _pon farr_ ; however, meditation and a period of rest should help to resolve this.” She paused, her eyes lowering slightly before she continued, “May I speak?”

     Jim had colored slightly at the mention of the fever. “Sure.” Spock was sitting silently, his perfect posture almost forbidding.

     “I have never before encountered a bond such as yours. _T’hy’la_ is rare, and what is known of it is mostly legend.” Her eyes grew more intense. “Would you consent to an in-depth examination of your bond, and a series of tests of the responsivity between you and your bondmate?”

     “Um.” Jim rubbed his chin with his hand, stalling.

     Spock lifted his chin, a wave of negative emotions and memories flashing across the bondspace, too fast for Jim to decipher. “No, I do not consent. Your analysis of the soundness of our bond is sufficient.”

     “Your response is not logical and is self-indulgent. Your bond is unique and requires study. More so with the loss of our world and your half-blood status. Your cultural duty is to allow a record of it to be retained, for future generations, especially in light of your hazardous occupation.”

     Jim felt his mate struggle to control sudden anger and Spock’s voice held an edge. “I am well aware of the duty of a unique specimen to submit to exhaustive examination. However, I do not consent.”

     T’Lerit’s voice was uninflected. “Your father has expressed his opinion of your past reluctance to perform your expected duty. Your response is unfortunate, but predictable.”

     Jim felt a wash of bleak hurt suffuse their bondspace, sensing his mate’s tenuous control slip even more and he glared, leaning forward. “That’s enough.”

     She merely tilted her head, fixing him with an even stare. “You object to my request?”

     Jim’s eyes narrowed. “I object to a lot of what I just heard.”

     T’Lerit considered him placidly before turning her gaze back to Spock. “Your mother was human, and you are bonded to a human. Your father merely wishes to ensure that the weakness and transience of emotion do not control you. Because of your human heritage, it is more important for you to abide by the rules of total logic and to rely on a strict interpretation of your duty. Perhaps, studying the precepts of the _kolinahru_ would be as useful for you as they have been for your father.”

     Jim stood up. “I think we’re done here.”

     But Spock did not move. “Sarek is being instructed in the discipline of _kolinahr_?”

     “Indeed. The distance that you perceive between you and your father is necessary. Emotional connections must be severed in order for the purity of total logic to prevail, as you well know.” She blinked. “Will you reconsider the study of your bond?”

     Spock finally stood. “Negative.”

     The healer rose as well, and offered the _ta’al_ in dismissal. “Live long and prosper.”

     Spock raised his hand in the gesture, but did not repeat the words, and Jim leveled a dark look at T’Lerit before turning and walking quickly to the doors. As they exited into the hallway, he could literally feel the swirls of Spock’s emotions along the widened bondspace. His mate’s thoughts were rapidly shifting, and Jim now caught glimpses of childhood memories of being a half-human oddity, of a lifelong quest for his father’s approval, of deep-seated shame, of vivid loneliness. Halfway down the long corridor, Jim decided that it was too much, and stopped, turning to face his mate and holding out his hand in the _ozh’esta_.

     There was a tense moment, and then Spock reached back. The press of their fingers was brief, but Jim knew they both felt the pervading warmth of their connection. _Kicking and fucking screaming, babe. We are never living on New Vulcan._

     His mate’s mind quieted, and Jim felt a flicker of tolerant amusement, but Spock did not respond immediately and the sudden approach of Meghan Lee interrupted them. “Captain, Commander, if you are finished with your meeting, I would be pleased to escort you to your aircar.” She seemed out of breath, and slightly agitated.

     Jim furrowed his brow. “Thanks, but we can probably just walk, it’s... .”

     She waved her hand. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t think that would be a good idea. Admiral Fitzpatrick specifically sent transport and security escort for you both. He said that it non-negotiable.”

     Jim exchanged a glance with Spock, a spike of adrenaline running through his veins.  _What do you think that’s all about?_

     Spock blinked.  _I do not know, Jim. Standard precaution, perhaps._

     Jim made a face.  _Not fucking likely._ Noticing the young woman’s confused and still anxious expression, he sighed. “Okay, Ms. Lee, show us the way.”

 

 


	17. Duty, Love, And The Nothing In Between

Chapter Seventeen: Duty, Love, And The Nothing In Between

 

 

     The ride to Headquarters was a tense affair, with two escort vehicles alongside. The guards stayed with them until they had entered the main building and passed through the main security gates. Jim self-consciously straightened his uniform tunic as it was immediately apparent that all eyes were on them both. The brightly lit corridors were nearly silent, the general atmosphere was strained, and as they neared Fitzpatrick’s office, the admiral’s assistant showed them directly in.

     Fitzpatrick stood as they entered, and waved his hand even before the two officers could come to parade rest. “At ease, gentlemen. I’m glad you made it.” There was palpable relief in his voice. “Commander, good to see you back on your feet.”

     “Thank you, Admiral.”

     Jim frowned. “Sir, why the extra security? Did something happen?”

     Fitzpatrick snorted. “You could say that. We’ve got a major situation here. The cordon around the _Eren’gha_ outpost in Beta has been attacked and the outpost itself has been destroyed, but not before being raided. The surviving patrol ship reported a single attacking vessel, coming in cloaked, with the normal RSV weaponry and signature and ground personnel reported an armed landing party with at least three Vulcanoid life signs.”

     “What about the negotiations?”

     “Still proceeding. It might not be anything that they know about; what’s left of their fleet remains in our space, all ships presently accounted for.”

     Jim’s eyes widened. “It’s Karik. It has to be.” He turned to Spock, who already had picked up his train of thought. “That ship.”

     The Vulcan nodded slowly. “The modified Klingon vessel on board the supership. Its ability to cloak would have obstructed sensor probes and made it an ideal escape vehicle.”

     Jim raised a hand to his forehead, his mind racing. “Spock...what about the ark? Did the _Chesapeake_ crewmembers say anything about the ark?”

     Fitzpatrick had already punched in to his computer console. “I have the recording they took of the bridge during the boarding operation.”

     Jim bounded around to stand next to the admiral, peering into the screen, a shiver running down his spine as the forbidding space came into view. “No! It’s missing! It should be...there!” He pointed, and Fitzpatrick frowned, folding his arms across his chest.

     “Jim, I know we discussed this at the debrief, and I have Spock’s official report, but what is this thing again?”

     Jim glanced at his first officer and Spock clasped his hands behind his back. “It is an equivalent to a _katric_ ark, sir. On Vulcan, such was used to store the collective consciousness of our planet’s history. The personality and character of a Vulcan, his or her essence, if you will, could be stored and accessed by the psi adepts charged with its keeping. In this case, the ark held the individual essences of the vanguard of _Eren’gha_ warriors, including the entity that took over Siforit’s mind.”

     “And why the hell would she want to drag that around? After what it did to her brother?”

     Jim and Spock exchanged a glance. Jim shook his head. “It was still active. Empty, but active. It could be a formidable weapon, depending on how she might decide to use it.”

     Fitzpatrick’s frown deepened and he shook his head. “That’s not all. We’ve now confirmed eight Starfleet officers disappeared during the post-evacuation chaos. From the looks of things, they went voluntarily. They range from an Ensign assigned as one of my own assistants to an Engineering professor at the Academy to a Lieutenant Commander in top-clearance Tactical Ops. I’m talking active operational knowledge and a huge security breach. We don’t know where they are, or what they may have taken with them, and if you’re right about Karik being responsible for the attack on the outpost, we’ve got an even bigger problem then we thought.”

     “Sir?”

     “She’s presumed to have been the leader of the RSV underground operation within Starfleet. If their intention is to join up with her, and she’s gotten her hands on more _Eren’gha_ equipment, we could be up shit creek.”

     Jim felt a sharp tension returning to his shoulders and neck. “They could be anywhere. If this was a premeditated exit strategy in case of exposure, those RSV long-range transporters could land them on the other side of the quadrant.”

     Spock tilted his head. “Or, they could still be on Earth. We cannot rule out a domestic attack.”

     Fitzpatrick nodded. “Which is why we’re locking things down, here. All ships and starbases are maintaining security alert one. I’m assuming that there may be other spies that may not have been able to simply disappear.” The admiral’s intense gaze shifted between the two officers. “I know you’ve both just been through hell, but we’re not out, yet. Jim, I want you to talk to the RSV reps; I want you to see what they can tell us about Karik and the real aim of their undercover network. Find out if she had her own agenda.”

     “Me, sir?”

     “You. You’re the one who’s caused the RSV the most trouble in the past year and they’ll know we mean business.”

     “Admiral,” Spock cut in, “If active negotiations are proceeding, it is unlikely that an interrogation will be sanctioned by the Federation representative.”

     “We’ve got a potentially rogue operative and a security situation that, right now, threatens the welfare of both sides. I’m betting that the RSV need us more than they need her right now. After all, their fleet’s been hit hard, their mercenary army’s run off, and they’ve been essentially marooned in Federation space with the Klingons breathing down their necks. If there’s a chance we can get some valuable intel to prevent more bloodshed, I’m not going to wait at the pace of diplomacy for it to happen.”

     He took a breath. “I’m going to call ahead and make it clear to Ambassador Sarek that this needs to take priority. Don’t threaten them, obviously, but work the angle that both sides need this leak plugged if we’re going to come to any sort of agreement.”

     Jim could sense his mate’s disapproval, but he himself didn’t think there was much of a choice.

     Fitzpatrick glanced at Spock. “Commander, you’re in a unique position to make sure that your father is aware of the seriousness of the situation and the immediacy of the timeframe. See what you can do to smooth things over. Given that negotiations are occurring on a Starfleet vessel and still under a declaration of war, we’ve got precedence, but I don’t want this turning into an issue with the Council.”

     A muscle in Spock’s jaw tightened, but his voice was uninflected. “Yes, sir.”

     Jim rubbed his eyes and then dropped his hands to his sides, pushing away a sense of frustrated tiredness. “We’ll do our best, Admiral.”

 

 

 

     Jim’s first sight as he materialized on the _Arredondo’_ s pad was Tanith Brisker’s huge smile. He stepped forward, an answering smirk on his face, and she hesitated only a second before giving him a warm embrace. “You lucky bastard. How the hell are you still alive?”

     He hugged her back and glanced back at Spock as she released him. “Ask him.”

     “I bet.” She nodded to Spock before turning back to Jim. “Mazel tov, by the way. They giving you any shit about it?”

     Jim shrugged. “Here and there.”

     Her expression grew serious. “Well, anyone who lives through a mind-sifter interrogation without spilling the secrets of their soul should be given some leeway, in my opinion.” She took a breath and stepped back. “I hear you’ll be having a chat with our guests.”

     “That’s the idea.”

     She tilted her head towards the door. “Admiral Fitzpatrick called ahead, so they’re actually taking a break right now.” She made a face. “Ambassador Sarek returned to his quarters not too happy about the whole situation, but the _Ren shat’var_ representatives are still in the briefing room, so now’s as good a time as any.”

     Jim nodded slowly and glanced back at Spock again. “I’ll be meeting with the representatives and Mr. Spock will need to speak with the ambassador.”

     Brisker gestured at a crewman standing near the entrance. “Lieutenant Commander Barnes is in charge of security for the RSV reps and he’ll show you to the briefing room. I’ll take Mr. Spock to the ambassador’s cabin. We’re presently holding security alert here, so expect a lot of extra patrols.” She snorted lightly. “You know the drill.”

     “Thanks, Tanith.” Jim glanced at the waiting crewman, who snapped to attention and gestured him towards the door. _Good luck._

_And you, ashayam._

 

 

 

     Jim followed Barnes through the wide corridors of the battleship. They passed other crewmembers, all armed and moving in pairs. Jim could sense his mate’s underlying anxiety, and also the way he now allowed it to dissolve naturally into the energy of the bond, eventually met and captured by the ebb and flow of Jim’s own unrestrained emotional landscape. Straightening his shoulders, Jim deliberately focused on the task at hand. Karik’s obvious volatility and complete dismissal of defeat reminded him all too sharply of his experience with Khan. He watched as Barnes stopped in front of another set of doors, and the captain drew himself deliberately into his command persona.

     The doors opened to a standard conference room, and as Jim entered he noticed an armed security guard present and standing along the wall. Already at the table were two Vulcanoids: one male and one female. The male was seated immediately opposite the door, and the female to Jim’s right, several seats away. Barnes moved further into the room and stood near the back, and Jim stepped up closer to the table, seeing unmistakable recognition in the eyes of the two renegade Vulcans.

     “Captain James T. Kirk.” The female’s voice was heavily accented. “You have come to gloat over your victory?” She did not look angered; in fact, she seemed almost smugly pleased.

     Jim glanced between the two of them before lowering himself into an opposing seat in front of the door. “Hardly, ma’am.”

     Her stare was unwavering. “My name is Kheris. I command what remains of our fleet. You know already that we have come to seek terms, not to beg. Why are you here?”

     Jim met her gaze. “I’m not here as an official negotiator. I merely have some questions for you. Your answers will benefit both our sides.”

     Her eyes narrowed. “We shall see, Kirk.”

 

 

 

     The door slid smoothly open, and Spock stepped through, nodding to Brisker, who offered him a small smile and turned to head back down the hallway. The room was spacious, and the lighting low, and Spock took several steps forward before halting, clasping his hands behind his back, hearing the door slide shut and the hiss of the air recirculators in the otherwise silent room. In front of him, his father, dressed in traditional Vulcan robes, faced the viewport, his back to his son. Across the bond, Spock could sense his mate’s focus, a hint of exhilaration, and he raised his chin and watched his father, mindful of his own controls. His face and voice now carefully expressionless, Spock finally broke the silence. “Father.”

     Sarek did not move, or turn. “The interruption to these negotiations is unacceptable, Spock. Starfleet is not in the business of diplomacy.”

     “We remain in a state of war after the incursion into Federation space and the destruction of our ships. An imminent security threat requires this action and Starfleet authority takes precedence under law.” Spock did not mention that one of Starfleet’s primary roles was indeed diplomacy, particularly the intricate, delicate kind that came with first contact. He knew only too well his father’s opinions about what he considered to be a blunt military organization.

     Sarek finally turned, his face a mask and his eyes unforgiving, flickering over Spock’s features before averting to the side. Spock’s own face remained impassive as he struggled inwardly with his controls. The all-too-recent _pon farr_ was wreaking havoc with his emotions, and he did not want to interrupt Jim by allowing his increasing inner tumult to dissipate out over the bondspace. The silence stretched, and Spock drew in a breath. “I recently learned that you have taken a new bondmate. I was honored to meet T’Lerit.”

     There was an almost imperceptible twitch in Sarek’s jaw, but he did not otherwise react. Aware of the obvious insult his father was conveying by not answering, Spock’s eyes narrowed minutely. “I was informed that you are studying the disciplines of _kolinahr_.” This, too, was ignored, and Spock lowered his gaze. He knew that his outward demeanor was not reflective of the roiling emotions now battering his controls, but he did not want to risk allowing his eyes to give him away. The silence stretched and became insurmountable, and Spock turned slightly, as if to go.

     “Spock.” Sarek did not look at him, but there was an odd note in his voice. Spock recognized it from his childhood, when his parents had engaged in a disagreement, and his father was reluctant to admit fault. It was subtle, and would be almost imperceptible to a human. Almost. Spock remembered his mother taking that tone as an apology in and of itself.

     Spock straightened his shoulders and raised his eyes, seeing the muscles in the older Vulcan’s jaw twitch again. “ _Sa-mekh_.”

     Spock had not called his father such since childhood, and Sarek’s gaze suddenly turned towards his son, rising to meet expressive, very human brown eyes. Deep emotion suddenly flashed across Sarek’s face and, through his weakened shields, Spock briefly sensed his father’s own emotional turmoil: _grief, determination, guilt, resignation_. He realized his perception must have evidenced itself within his expression, because his father’s countenance suddenly became impassive and iron controls clamped down and his voice was flat. “Your mental discipline is lacking, Spock.”

     “For it to be so is understandable, considering recent circumstances.”

     Sarek inclined his head. “I spoke to your bondmate regarding your Time.”

     The younger Vulcan experienced an impulse of defiance. “I was referencing injuries sustained during the recent conflict on the intruder vessel, for which your bondmate provided a most illuminating evaluation and recommendation.”

     He could not help the hardness in his own voice and saw his father’s eyebrow rise. “Indeed.”

     “Quite.” Spock lifted his chin. “My childhood experience as a unique specimen of scientific interest was instrumental in my decision to deny her request to have my bond studied and its intricacies catalogued.” Sarek’s lips pressed together almost imperceptibly and Spock continued, “She considered my decision illogical and self-serving. In essence, predictable, based on your opinions of my previous actions.”

     Sarek’s gaze returned to meet his son’s, and he took a halting step forward, his hands flexing slightly at his sides. The emotional swell rose again, and was now outwardly evident in the faint lines around black eyes. Spock stood very still, drawing on some almost-human instinct that what was about to happen was important. Sarek’s eyes searched his son’s, and Spock could sense his father’s sudden concession almost as an internal collapse.

     “To bond with a human is to introduce an expanse of emotional unconstraint and the necessity of functioning, at times, outside the bounds of our cultural dictates.” Sarek took a breath. “Outside the bounds determined by logic. And, therefore, when your mother died, logic was insufficient to resolve the loss of her presence in my mind. The discipline of _kolinahr_ is required to excise what is missing in order to redefine the whole.”

     Sarek tilted his head. “To be Vulcan is to embrace a path and a philosophy that cannot be disregarded due to personal failures or for convenience. My failure to adequately contend with the loss of your mother is not sufficient reason to disregard my duty to our people, and so I have bonded with T’Lerit.”

     The ambassador clasped his hands in front of him. “Your actions are difficult to reconcile with your professed identity as a Vulcan. You are in Starfleet. You have taken a human mate. Your path is ambiguous and you are vulnerable to the same failure that I now face: a failure that will consume you if you do not return to an adherence to your cultural and societal duty.”

     Spock raised an eyebrow. “But I am neither fully human nor fully Vulcan. Logic suggests that I choose an independent path.”

     Sarek replied, “There is no path independent of love except the path of _kolinahr_. And I find myself choosing that path, for it is the only way to live with my duty.”

 

 

 

     Jim leaned back slightly in his chair. “Who is _Gh’edis_ Karik?”

     Kheris’ eyes narrowed. “What will you give us in exchange for this information?”

     “Mutual goodwill and trust.” Jim’s tone was smooth.

     Kheris sniffed. “Not enough.”

     The captain shrugged. “You’re not exactly in a position to be issuing demands.”

     The male Vulcanoid took a breath. “My name is Sarhen. I will speak. Karik, like Siforit, whom you knew, was a member of my family. We have had no contact with her since her brother’s unfortunate incident.”

     “She was in charge of recruiting Starfleet officers to your cause.”

     Kheris looked nonchalant. “Yes.”

     Jim leaned forward. “And your purposes in that respect went beyond simple intelligence gathering.”

     Kheris’ voice was low. “Of course.”

     Jim nodded slowly. “Who did Karik report to?”

     Sarhen glanced at his colleague, his expression unreadable, and then leaned forward. “Her brother, directly.”

     Jim relaxed his stance, not wanting to push too hard. He pressed his lips together, regarding the two Vulcanoids across the table, when he felt it, encroaching stealthily along the edges of his consciousness: a whisper of foreboding. Jim was used to his bad feelings, Bones teased him mercilessly about them, but this felt more real, more tangible. Surreptitiously, he moved his hand closer to his phaser.

 

 

 

     Spock watched his father. “To excise emotion completely would be to lose her completely. I do not believe that is what you wish to do.”

     “And what will you do, my son, when your bondmate is taken from you?”

     “I cannot presume to know.” Spock turned away, shifting to cross his arms over his chest. “When James died, I sensed our connection break. Not a bond, then, but a link nonetheless. I lost my controls and wished death to another. Now that we share a bond, I believe that it is possible to survive, but I confess I do not wish to experience such.”

     “There was a period of time before your birth, during which your mother, yet unsuccessful at carrying a viable child, told me that grief was the hardest of all to bear; that she suspected it was the reason for _kolinahr_ to exist.” Sarek moved so that he could see his son’s face. “I told you before that I was grateful for you; that has not changed. However, strict interpretation of the Vulcan way is the only course I can follow, if I am not to succumb to my grief. If I am to fulfill my duty.”

     Spock studied his father’s features. “You once told me that I am capable of deciding my own destiny. I submit to you that you are capable of holding on to yours. If you succeed in this, I will have lost the one who chose Mother.”

     For a moment, Sarek’s eyes echoed an almost human pain, and then they closed off again behind a wall of Vulcan discipline. “I have failed you as well, my son. But I will not fail our people or our way. _Kaiidth_.”

 

 

 

     Jim’s senses were on high alert, but he kept his expression a mask of steely resolve. “We know there were factions within the _Ren shat’var_. We know you aren’t as unified as you let on, even now. Which side was Karik on?”

     Sarhen’s lips tightened. “You refer, of course, to the unsuccessful attack on New Vulcan. You must understand, Captain, in any group where ambition and success is valued, and with such close familial ties and tensions, there will be those who struggle for control.”

     Jim shook his head. “You haven’t answered my question. And, from what I know of your values from my discussions with Siforit, honor in victory is as important as victory itself.”

     Sarhen bowed his head. “Karik was content to follow her brother.”

     “Until his mind was overtaken and her familial bond broken.”

     “Yes.” Sarhen closed his eyes briefly.

     Jim felt a bead of sweat roll down his back. His bondmate’s mind was wrought with barely controlled emotion, but it was not the source of this permeating sense of _wrong_. Tentatively, he pushed against the limits of the bondspace, into the reaches of psi-perception that normally were shielded by his mate. For some reason, the shielding was weaker than usual, or perhaps his perception was stronger somehow, and Jim felt the disturbing sense emanating from a nearby presence.

     He shifted slightly in his seat, gripping his phaser securely under the table, and glanced over, where Barnes was standing in the corner of the room, sweat beading on his forehead. Jim moved an instant before it happened.

 

 

 

     Sarek had turned away, and Spock was suddenly aware of his mate’s mental questing along the bondspace between them, probing along the perimeter of his senses, into the realm of the latent telepathic awareness. Forming a question in his mind, he was suddenly aware of a crash of alarm along the bond, followed by a flurry of racing thoughts.

     “Jim.” He was not aware of having spoken it aloud, but saw Sarek turn sharply to face him. Spock spun and slammed his palm on the access panel next to the door, barely aware of his father moving as if to follow him.

     A guard had been posted outside the door, and she jumped in surprise as Spock burst through the entryway. “There is a situation in the briefing room. Call security. Stay with the ambassador.”

     “Sir!” she exclaimed, reaching for her phaser, but Spock was already sprinting down the corridor.

 

 

 

     Barnes had thrown the stun grenade over the table without any warning, and it was only Jim’s rapid dive practically into the lap of the male _Ren shat’var_ leader that kept him from the full effect of the blast. He pushed roughly away, shoving Sarhen behind him, and rolled, coming up with his phaser in his hand, already firing. Barnes had ducked away, evading Jim’s initial burst, and the captain moved, fast, bending low and charging. He felt the burn of an energy beam graze along his shoulder and impacted the other man’s body at full speed, knocking him into the bulkhead with a sickening crunch. Barnes had gone limp, but Jim heard a cold voice behind him. “Stand up, Captain, and turn around. Slowly.”

     Jim turned his head. Kheris was standing over the fallen security guard, holding a stolen phaser. Her hands were steady and her eyes were deadly calm. “Now, come here, Kirk,” she smiled, “where I can see you.”

     Jim thought of trying his luck, but he could feel his bondmate’s rapidly approaching presence and decided to keep her occupied.  _She’s armed and one meter in front of the door, Spock._ He stepped forward, walking slowly around the table and towards her, leaving Barnes lying on the floor against the wall. “You won’t get off this ship.”

     “Oh, but we will, Captain.” Her lips curled, and she pulled a small, familiar-looking metallic object from under her tunic.

     Jim’s heart raced into overdrive.  _Spock! It’s a transport beacon! It’s... ._

     The door suddenly swept open and Kheris turned, immediately firing through it. Jim lunged, but he saw her fingers close over the unit as a bright phaser beam flashed up, impacting her full in the chest and throwing her back, just as he himself was gripped by the tingle of dematerialization. Kheris hit the table, golden sparks coalescing around her form, and Spock sprung up from where he had fired from a prone position on the deck, his phaser held ready, leaping forward. And Jim’s last sight as the golden light washed over his senses was the sight of his bondmate’s body, now also caught in a sparkling beam.

 

 


	18. I Will Follow You Into The Dark

Chapter Eighteen: I Will Follow You Into The Dark

 

 

     A security team poured into the briefing room, Brisker hot on their heels, alert lighting flashing around them. The auburn-haired captain swore mightily as she took in the sight of Barnes unconscious on the floor across the room and Sarhen standing with his hands raised, backed against the far wall on the opposite side of the table.

     The captain advanced on the remaining _Ren shat’var_ leader, now being placed in restraining cuffs by two security guards. “What happened?”

     Sarhen looked almost sickened. “Your chief of security set off a stun charge and attacked Captain Kirk. The captain disarmed your man, but my...colleague had apparently been allowed to retain a transporter beacon. She activated it as the captain’s bondmate came through the door, and all three disappeared into the beam, along with an unconscious guard.”

     Brisker flinched. “Spock’s gone, too? Where’s the ambassador?”

     “Here, Captain,” Sarek’s even voice came from the doorway. The ambassador’s face was a shade too pale, and Brisker pressed her lips together as she realized he must have overheard that his son was missing. Striding to the wall intercom, she punched the button with the side of her fist. “Brisker to bridge.”

     “Bridge. Torres here, Captain.”

     “We’ve just had a security breach by one of our own people. Maintain red alert and lock weapons onto that RSV ship; so much as a bump in power and you’re authorized to take out their engines. Captain Kirk, Commander Spock, and Ensign Martin have been kidnapped via an unauthorized transport. Get the scanners and ship’s visual logs operating. And get Command on the line; I want to talk to Admiral Fitzpatrick directly.”

     “Yes, ma’am, right away!”

     Brisker hit the button again and turned to where Barnes was being lifted, supported by two guards. “Get him down to the brig; full restraints. I want to find out who else is in on this and where that transport signal originated.”

     “If I may... .” Sarhen’s voice was quiet, but firm. The captain raised a hand, and the guards released their grip on the Vulcanoid’s arms. He glanced at Sarek and then looked to Brisker. “I did not know of this plot, Captain, but I will answer any questions you wish to put to me. Our people’s future hangs in the balance, and I tire of fools' quests for revenge and glory. My son spoke highly of Kirk and Spock, and, despite our differences, I would see them returned safely.”

     Brisker peered at him. “Your son?”

     Sarhen’s face was a sea of deep emotion. “Siforit was my son. And my daughter is most likely responsible for this desperate action. In a way, I lost both of my children when my son touched the _Eren’gha_ essence, but I will not lose my people, too. Our ways are divided, as Kirk pointed out, and Kheris was one to insist on a glorious death. I am content with honor, and there is no honor left in that path. I will help you, as much as I am able, in exchange for the safety of those of us who are left.”

     Brisker frowned. “No tricks, Sarhen.”

     He inclined his head. “On my honor, no tricks.”

 

 

 

     The whirl of materialization dimmed and Jim was staring at a shimmering force field obstructing the doorway of a small, brightly lit cell. He saw Spock, transported in front of him, spin and bring his other hand to the handle of his phaser, firing four rapid shots into the field. The field buzzed angrily and flashed with the light of the blasts, but remained active. Kheris’ limp body had formed in mid-air, and had slumped to the deck, her phaser and the transport beacon clattering onto the hard floor alongside the unconscious security guard from the _Arredondo_. Jim advanced on his bondmate aggressively. “What the fuck did you just do? Why the fuck did you jump into that beam?”

     Their bondspace was alive with a blur of protectiveness and rage and Spock took two steps toward him, unrestrained ferocity blazing in his eyes. “You would ask me that?” Instinctively, Jim moved back. It was as if a switch had been triggered, and perhaps it had. The stress and anguish of the rapid _pon farr_ , the terrible experience on the supership, the repeated stretch of telepathy beyond normal practice and experience, and now this last unexpected threat to his bondmate: all of it seemed to have pushed Spock an inch too far.

     “ _T’hy’la_.” Jim held a hand out, but Spock had already turned away, roughly grasping Kheris’ shoulder and turning her fully onto her back. Without hesitation, he pressed his fingers of his free hand to her face and Jim gasped at the echoes of the powerful, forcible meld that ensued, information ripping along the edges of the bondspace with flashing speed. Abruptly, Spock let go and stood again, his face pale, but the intensity in his eyes undiminished.

     “Spock... ,” Jim began softly, but the Vulcan simply tossed him his phaser and bent again to pick up the abandoned weapon next to Kheris’ body.

     “Switch to full power. Fire at the right side field junction on my mark.” The Vulcan’s voice was a command, and Jim’s jaw tightened but he obeyed, flicking the power switch on the weapon and feeling it warm slightly in his hand as the kill indicators flashed on.

     “Mark.” Spock fired a full-power beam along the left-hand side of the field, sweeping it down along the junction as Jim did the same on the right. The field sparked and spat as a high arcing current flashed from side to side across the barrier and the field went suddenly dark and silent. Jim glanced at his bondmate, but Spock was already moving, striding past Jim out into the hallway, glancing both ways before gesturing to his captain.  _This way. We are on a ship. They know we are here._

     Jim stood, raising his phaser and switching the setting back to stun. They split, one to each side of the hallway, moving quickly and silently. Spock seemed to know exactly where to go, and, as they rounded a corner, Jim felt his mate’s mental warning an instant before two bodies rushed towards them.

 

 

 

     Brisker flipped the switch on her chair and Fitzpatrick’s face faded from the viewscreen, leaving the image of the _Chesapeake_ breaking into a long-range orbit immediately on the other side of the _Ren shat’var_ vessel.

     “The _Chesapeake_ reports they are in position, ma’am. All stations report secured for warp speed.”

     “Captain, now confirmed transwarp signature. Computing pursuit trajectory and sending to helm.”

     “Mr. Henderson, I want warp eight for as long as she’ll take it.”

     The young helmsman hesitated only a second before acknowledging, “Yes, ma’am. Warp eight.”

     She leaned forward, dark brown eyes intense. “Let’s go.”

 

 

 

     It seemed obvious that their presence outside of the cell had not been expected, as both guards still had their weapons sheathed. Jim ducked under a punch, firing his phaser up at point blank range into his opponent’s side, seeing angered recognition in dark eyes an instant before S’Farh collapsed. He turned to see Spock nerve pinch another of the familiar _Ren shat’var_ guards, letting the limp body fall to the floor.

The captain gripped his phaser, crouching against the opposite wall and Spock had backed against the bulkhead, phaser raised, listening. After a few seconds he glanced over at Jim.  _Clear._

     Jim took a breath and they slid around the corner, keeping again to the walls. They moved faster, and it was only by chance that Jim saw the flash of phaser light out of the corner of his eye. The captain leaped forward, dragging Spock down as a bolt melted the plastisteel where the Vulcan had just stood. Jim spun on the floor, and with a yell started to fire back down the hallway. His second rapid shot hit their attacker and a body hit the floor with a grunt. Spock pushed himself back to his feet and pulled Jim up by the arm, but the captain shrugged him off, peering down the corridor.

_Jim, we must keep moving._

_Wait. I want to see something._ Holding his weapon at the ready, Jim slipped back down the hall, sensing his bondmate take a covering position behind him. The crumpled body in front of him was dressed not in the standard black combat fatigues favored by the _Ren shat’var_ , but in a dark gray Starfleet tactical uniform. Jim quickly flipped the unconscious man over to see human features. A stir of vague recollection caused him to furrow his brow; he seemed to remember this man at the base camp on Epsilon Canelis II. _Fuck. Another Starfleet spy. She must have picked him up during the raid._

_The bridge is this way, Jim._

     Jim quickly moved back to his bondmate.  _There’s at least one more RSV soldier._ His eyes flickered over Spock’s face. The Vulcan’s expression was still intense, and emotions held under the barest of controls still smoldered within their bondspace. Spock refused to meet his eyes, looking instead up the hallway. Jim frowned, but did the same, crossing back to the other side of the corridor.

     They came within sight of the half-open doors to the bridge, and a flash of movement, again from behind them, forced them to turn. Spock fired a single shot and the RSV soldier fell, his weapon sliding across the floor. Jim had leaned just slightly away from the wall when the high-pitched sound of a disruptor sounded from behind him and a burning pain ripped along the back of his right leg.

     The captain cried out, falling to one knee, and Spock whirled, firing three shots into the doorway towards their unseen assailant and, moving at inhuman speed, raced towards the half-open entrance.

 _Spock, wait!_ Alarmed, Jim forced himself to his feet, ignoring the pain in his leg and rushing after his mate. It occurred to him suddenly that this seemed all too fucking convenient.

     He was less than two meters behind the Vulcan as Spock entered the bridge, breaking rapidly to the side. There was a muffled cry, and Jim leapt through the doors himself, phaser held at the ready, to take in the image of Spock holding Karik up against a bulkhead, one hand clasped around her neck and the other gripping her wrist, where she grasped a disruptor pistol. Jim sidestepped, limping on his injured leg, sweeping his weapon, rapidly taking in the room.

     Jim’s blood ran cold as he recognized the sleek shape of the elusivium ark standing next to the main viewscreen. The statue was standing on a patchwork mat of the silvery material, which extended over to the wall under the screen and continued around to encircle the bridge. The captain followed it with his eyes, and then he saw it: the strange smile on Karik’s lips, and the way her free hand reached blindly and inexorably for the thin stripe of elusivium on the wall next to her.

     Jim’s mind shouted a warning at the same time as he yelled, “Spock! No!” But it was too late, and Karik’s hand made contact with the material, and Jim could feel a powerful psionic pulse run through her body into his mate’s hands, and Jim screamed, the bondspace exploding within his mind.

 

 

 

     “Braking now, ma’am.”

     Brisker gripped the armrests of her chair as the _Arredondo_ snapped out of warp, the harsh shaking of the deck subsiding with the deceleration from their excessive speed. The vessel was there, in front of them, of modified Klingon design, just as reported by the only surviving vessel from the clash at the outpost in Beta.

     “The craft is drifting, ma’am. Engine power zero. No shields. Scans indicate that there’s been weapons damage to the warp assembly, probably from the skirmish with Fleet vessels. They may have made it this far, but they’re not going any further without space dock.”

     “Lifesigns?”

     “Very faint, ma’am. I can distinguish one human signature, but I can’t make out any distinctive Vulcanoid readings.”

     Brisker stood. “Prepare an armed boarding party, with medical support. Mr. Kyle, you have the conn. Keep eyes on that ship. I don’t want any more fucking surprises.”

     “Aye, Captain. Will do.” Kyle met her eyes from the tactical station. “Bring them back, ma’am.”

     Brisker nodded, already on the way to the turbolift. “I intend to.”

 

 

 

     Security was sweeping the ship, and Brisker led three guards along the dark hallway towards a half open door, their phasers out. She paused to meet their eyes, and they moved rapidly forward, in a practiced formation. The three guards spread out along the boundaries of the room, but Brisker stopped, her phaser falling to her side, taking in Karik’s form propped against the near bulkhead, her lifeless gray eyes open and unseeing, a smile still curling her lips. And next to her, lying on the floor, were Spock and Jim, the captain’s arm thrown over his bondmate’s chest, his face pressed into the Vulcan’s neck, both disturbingly still. Brisker took an involuntary step forward and reached for her communicator. “Medic!” Her voice broke. “Get me a medic in here right now!”

     She took another step forward, glancing around again. “Don’t touch the elusivium!” The guards nodded and her communicator beeped just as one of her medical staff raced through the doorway, taking in the situation and rapidly falling to his knees next to Kirk’s prone form, scanner out.

     She raised her device. “Brisker, here.”

     “Ensign Harms, ma’am. We’ve swept the ship and found Martin. He’s barely conscious from a pretty bad head wound. There’s no one else, Captain.”

     “Is he able to communicate?”

     “A little, Captain. He said he had woken up and saw several RSV and one human. They were arguing and he said it looked like one of them had the transport beacon, but when they saw him move they hit him again. He doesn’t know how long he’s been out, ma’am.”

     “Get him back to the ship. Tell them we’ve found Kirk and Spock.” The security officer acknowledged and Brisker moved to the medical officer’s side. “Are they alive?”

     He glanced up at her, and his face was drawn in tight lines. “Barely, Captain. I’ve given them something to hopefully stabilize them, but pulse and respiration are way down, along with core temperature. We’ve got to get them back to the ship if they’re to have any chance.”

     Brisker nodded and flipped open her communicator again, signaling for a beam-out.

 

_He was stretched out on his belly at the very edge of a cliff, both hands desperately clasping his bondmate’s wrist. Spock’s body was limp, his head hanging back, eyes shut, and it took all of Jim’s strength to pull him up, away from the abyss yawning below them. The rock cut into his skin, and he yelled with the effort, dragging Spock’s body inch by inch back onto solid ground. With a final tug, he collapsed backwards, his mate’s body falling on top of his own, and Jim held him tightly, gasping for breath, staring at the swirling, thick shades of the sky above._

 

     Sarek stood in sickbay, in between the limp, pale forms of his son and his son’s _t’hy’la_. The _Arredondo_ was on its way back to Earth, the pirated vessel in tow, but the doctors onboard had given him little hope, even if they were to reach a healer. Their life signs were dropping steadily; their brain function, strangely synchronized since they were brought back to the battleship, was fading. Sarek’s only comfort, should he admit to such a thing, was that they were together.

_As Jim lay there, refusing to let go, he began to remember. He had felt the terrifying crash of hate, of anger and jealousy, of fear and grief, all borne on a wave of the psionic energies emanating from the elusivium ark, all directed at Spock. The bondspace had crumpled and screamed, and Jim had felt the icy slickness of death as the bondspace had begun to collapse into itself. He remembered reaching for his mate, diving headlong into the darkness after him, just barely managing to grab his hand. The deep shadows above were expanding, joining with the depths below, and Jim shook his unresponsive mate gently, and then more insistently. “Spock, wake up. Wake up, baby. We have to get out of here.”_

 

     Another presence intruded against the ambassador’s shields and he turned slightly to see Sarhen standing behind him.

     “I grieve with thee, Sarhen.”

     “And I with thee, Sarek.” Sarhen moved closer. “My daughter and my son were always close, from birth. When his mind was overcome, and their bond broken, she could not cope.”

     Sarek’s eyes moved back to his son’s face, seeing the brushes of humanity there beneath the Vulcan planes. “I lost my bondmate during the fall of our world. I confess my own failure to...cope.” His hand flexed, as if to reach out. “I strove to relinquish that failure, and instead relinquished my son.”

     Sarhen’s voice was full of emotion. “He is not alone.”

     Sarek’s back straightened. “No. He will not be alone.”

_Jim felt a deep chill, and sensed foreboding all around them. He had felt her intentions, the echoes of resentment, of the thirst for revenge. Her mind had carried everything forth, and she had destroyed herself in the process. The only thing that had kept Spock from the abyss was the powerful connection he held to Jim, and Jim’s refusal to let him go._

 

     The heart monitors were slowing, and Sarek began to feel something he had not experienced since Amanda had died: a sense of panic and dark fear, welling up in him, threatening his very soul. He could feel Sarhen just behind him, could feel his quiet, shared grief; true dialogue between them coming at a price too high.

_The darkness was extending and Jim clasped tighter to his mate, feeling a sense of breathless cold seeping from the rocky ground. He felt Spock shiver against him and looked up into wide dark eyes, feeling his mate’s deep sadness and unconditional, depthless love, feeling his own love streaming back, knowing that he would die for this, and still might. He shifted, pulling them both to their feet. “No. We’re not going to lose this. I’m not going to lose you. Follow me.” He looked desperately around, but there was nothing to orient him. Gentle, cold tendrils reached for them, and Jim could see nowhere to run._

 

     The sound of the sickbay doors opening and shutting brought Sarek’s attention to the young captain, striding deliberately into the ward, her hands gripped in fists at her sides. She walked directly to Jim’s side and her determined gaze swept over his pale features. She took a breath, and her voice was a sharp, low hiss. “For fuck’s sake, Jim, you’ve beaten worse than this. This isn’t going to happen on my fucking watch. Fight, dammit!”

     “Captain... .” Sarek’s tones were soft, and he couldn’t help an involuntary twitch when she reached back and slapped Jim full on across the face.

     “Fight! It’s not in you to give up!” She struck again, and Sarek moved, catching her wrist in a gentle, but firm grip. Brisker pulled back roughly, her voice now a snarl. “You’re standing here like they’re already dead. You don’t know them at all.”

     Sarek stared at her, realizing that perhaps she was right.

_Dimly, pain registered, and Jim gasped, feeling returning to his body. He could suddenly see lights above him, glimmering faintly in the thick darkness. The pain came again, distantly, and he felt breath returning fully, and he was suddenly moving, moving upwards towards the brightening stars. And he refused to let go of Spock’s hand._

 

     Jim drew in a harsh, strained breath and opened his eyes to the brightness of an unfamiliar sickbay, hearing a familiar female voice raised in a triumphant shout next to him. He reached for the bond, feeling it pulse in uncertain pain and shock. He could feel his mate, though, and he pushed, letting his consciousness spread across their widening connection. He blinked, barely aware of the staccato chirp of medical alarms over his head. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out, and he was suddenly surrounded by shouting medical personnel. Again he tried to speak, forcing Spock’s name in a hoarse whisper. There was a flurry of activity, and he couldn’t see his mate. He struggled weakly, and then felt a strong hand on his shoulder, sensed affection, gratitude, and relief pour through the contact.

     Sarek’s black eyes were gentler than Jim had ever seen them. “He is out of danger, James. You both are. Rest.” Jim blinked at him, and saw the truth there, but he couldn’t help but look back over to the side, where he caught a glimpse of brown eyes opening and searching, in kind, to find him. And only then, with renewed warmth washing over the bondspace and the thrum of Spock’s thoughts returned to his mind, did Jim finally relax.

 

 

Chapter End Notes:

The title of this chapter is from the song by Death Cab for Cutie.

 

 


	19. Brave New World

Chapter Nineteen: Brave New World

 

 

     Jim lay on his back on a blanket, listening to the soft sounds of waves lapping along the pebbles and coarse sand of the shoreline. The sun, hanging high in the sky, shone on his face, and the changing patterns of light, perceptible even through his closed eyelids, were soothing. Jim shifted slightly, stretching his recently healed leg, thinking about the past week.

     McCoy had come aboard as the _Arredondo_ had arrived in Earth orbit, rushing through the doors to sickbay with a simmering urgency. The doctor had stared down at his friend with a look of near-desperation, reaching to grip his hand tightly, uttering a sharp, barely audible, “Dammit, Jim.”

     Jim had managed an apologetic half-smile and had squeezed his friend’s hand. “Sorry, Bones. We made it, though.”

     “Barely. I saw the medical officer’s report.” Bones had released his hand to turn purposefully to Spock’s bedside. “And what do you have to say for yourself?”

     Spock did not reply, but Jim had felt a flood of _guilt, remorse, anger_ over the still-aching bondspace, and was about to interrupt when Bones reached out and gripped Spock’s wrist, holding it gently, yet firmly, his voice softening so that Jim could barely hear it. “It wasn’t your fault, and don't even bother arguing with me. Lord knows the kid attracts dangerous situations like flies to honey.”

     The ricocheting feelings across the bondspace had calmed slightly, and Jim felt his mate’s gratitude as he sensed McCoy’s affection and concern. “Thank you, Leonard.”

     McCoy had released his friend’s wrist and stepped back, all-business again, his scowl back and his voice overly loud. “Now who do I have to threaten to get you two off the damn front lines for a change?”

     Fitzpatrick had been more than willing to grant a leave request, made into more of an order by McCoy’s determined phrasing, effective immediately after debrief. However, Jim had not anticipated that the process would take so long, and four days later both Jim and Spock had still been sequestered in meetings with the brass and the Federation Council.

     The negotiations with the _Ren shat’var_ had been promising. Sarek and Sarhen had reached an agreement to allow the remaining members of the renegade sect to settle in an isolated area of New Vulcan. They would not, yet, have representation on the Federation Council, but they would have a voice within the New Vulcan government, and they had agreed to share their knowledge of _Eren’gha_ technology with Starfleet, beginning with the elusivium from Karik’s raid on the outpost, and the still-surviving ark. There seemed to be a strange symmetry in the reconciliation of each side with the other. For New Vulcan, which had retreated towards the colorless bounds of total logic since the catastrophe at the hands of Nero, and for the _Ren shat’var_ , who had strayed into the chaos of action and reaction, each was forced to re-evaluate their own perspective. Siforit’s death ultimately had allowed an unexpected new path to be forged in the peace being brokered.

     In the midst of the meetings at Headquarters, there had also been a memorial service for the _Kusanagi_ , and for all the lives lost in the recent conflicts, and the crew of the _Enterprise_ had joined hundreds of other Starfleet personnel in a heart-wrenching farewell. Jim had seen Tanith Brisker after the ceremony, standing at the edge of the dispersing crowds, her auburn hair loosely brushing her shoulders and her hands clasped behind her. Jim had walked over and she had turned to look at him, a slightly challenging look on her face.

     “How are you feeling?”

     Jim had smiled, mimicking her pose. “Great, considering.” He had tilted his head. “I heard you smacked me around a bit.”

     She had raised an eyebrow. “You heard that, huh? Total bullshit.”

     “Right.” Jim had lowered his eyes briefly before meeting her gaze again, his expression serious. He had held his hand out. “Thanks.”

     She had reached back, her grip firm and her eyes warm. “No problem, Jim. Do me a favor, though?”

     “What’s that?”

     “Try to stay out of trouble for a while. Give us all a chance to catch our breath.”

     Jim had nodded, smiling, and she had winked before turning and walking away. The _Arredondo_ would be departing within days to supervise the transfer of the _Ren shat’var_ to their new settlement, pending finalization of the negotiations.

     The information Spock had gleaned from his rapid meld with Kheris had corroborated what Starfleet Intelligence had learned from questioning Barnes. The missing Starfleet officers had indeed voluntarily disappeared, but they were not acting as a cohesive unit and there were no impending terrorist actions towards the Federation. At least, none arranged by Karik herself. Kheris’ thoughts had indicated that she and the missing RSV soldiers may have retreated to Romulan territory, but the rogue officers would more likely have chosen a different path. They would be more than welcome within the ranks of the shady organizations on the fringes of the Federation, whose numbers would most assuredly be increasing with the dispersion of the mercenaries recently under the employ of the RSV. Brisker and the _Arredondo_ would be busy.

     The _Enterprise_ herself was being repaired, and would depart for the frontier again within three weeks. The confirmed interference of the _Eren’gha_ with the no-contact worlds had raised thorny issues with the Prime Directive, and the _Enterprise_ ’s first mission would be to re-evaluate the situation on those disrupted planets.

     It had been almost five days before they were cleared to depart, accompanied by a security detail headed by the _Enterprise_ ’s security chief Lieutenant Commander Toomey, at Fitzpatrick’s request and Toomey’s insistence. They had arrived at a secluded cottage on the Cornish coast, and Jim had spent the first day of their two-week leave mostly sleeping. He knew, however, that his mate had not. It was a disturbing pattern of behavior that extended back to their arrival in San Francisco, where they had been assigned a temporary apartment on the grounds of Headquarters during their days of debriefing. Their full, and often conflicting, schedules had prevented them spending much time together, and Spock had chosen to meditate at night, sitting by himself on the floor of their bedroom. They had not melded or touched intimately since the horrifying ordeal on Karik’s ship.

     Now, Jim sensed the warmth of Spock’s presence even before he heard the sound of measured, approaching footsteps, and the captain raised a hand to block the sun, turning his head to regard his mate’s tall figure walking towards him along the shingle. Spock was wearing a fleece zipped up to his chin and jeans against the wind, and his black hair was tousled. The bondspace was a murmur of dulled colors and whispers of thought, with lingering hints of the pain of their recent experiences.

     Slowly, Jim pushed himself up to sit cross-legged on the blanket. He knew Spock could sense his determination to broach the subject, and so he did not try to hide it. As the Vulcan reached his side, Jim slid over, making room next to him. Spock raised an eyebrow, but lowered himself down onto the blanket, matching Jim’s position. He gazed out over the water, and Jim simply watched him, noting the too-pale skin and the dark circles under brown eyes, the loss of weight even in the past few days evident on his already lean frame.

     “We’ve got to talk about it sometime, you know.”

     Spock was silent, and Jim stretched his mind out across their bondspace. He sensed controls still too weak, and slipping shields. He sensed a profound tiredness of both body and mind, and Jim closed his eyes briefly, feeling a sharp guilt for not speaking sooner, for allowing the fevered pace of the past days to obscure the depth of his mate’s continued distress. Through all those days of meetings, and those nights lying alone, he had assumed that Spock would heal, as he always did, as Jim had, if only given time. He shifted closer to his mate, letting his shoulder press against Spock’s, feeling the warmth there, sending his own reassurance and apologies forward. “Please talk to me. I need you.”

     There was a long silence. Jim could feel the tumult across the bondspace, the thick emotions that lingered and pulsed, concealed only partially under his mate’s controls. Spock’s voice was quiet, barely carrying over the sound of waves nearby. “As I need you, _ashayam_.”

     Jim looked out to the water, able to focus solely on his mate’s mind for the first time in days, finally sensing the source of the turmoil. “I couldn’t let you go. You know that, don’t you?”

     Spock did not move. “I would have caused your death. You should not have come after me.”

     The captain turned his head. “And you would ask that of me?” He sensed his mate shiver, slightly. He shifted his body, moving even closer to Vulcan warmth. “You would ask me to live without this? Without you, given a choice?” Jim let out a sharp exhale. “We are part of each other, you and I.”

     “I succumbed to anger, and a need for revenge. As before, with Khan, I could not control.” Spock turned his head to meet Jim’s eyes. “When I felt the surge of energy through her mind, I knew I was lost. And I remember feeling fear that you would follow. And you did. And I could not stop it, nor stop you.”

     The captain swallowed and bowed his head. “You were already compromised, because of the fever, because of everything else that had happened.” He sighed. “Everything else that had happened over the past year, even. Every time you saved me, protected me, with no thought at the cost to yourself. You would have given all you are, for me. You have given it. Can’t you understand that I would only do the same?” Jim raised his chin. “Your soul is as my very own. You’re mine, and I’m yours. Of course I would follow you. Of course I would take that last, desperate chance to save you. It’s no more than you’ve done before, for me.”

     He felt a shudder run through his mate’s body, heard the deep emotion in his voice, felt it tremble across the bond. “I could feel us together, and we were fading. And I...felt sadness, Jim, for I wanted you to live, and yet I did not want you to leave me. And I was not strong enough to force you to go.”

     Jim reached out, allowing his hand to settle lightly on his mate’s. “We’re in this together. We always have been, and, I’m pretty sure, always will be. I felt it, when we melded during the fever. I’m not sure I understand it, but I know it. And I couldn’t bear losing you.” His voice was earnest. “I love you.”

     Spock turned his hand so their fingers entwined and he lowered his eyes. “And I love you.” His voice was quiet, but the bondspace brightened and calmed between them, convincingly and powerfully, dispelling some of the fatigue, some of the lingering pain. Jim’s chest tightened as he realized that it was the first time his mate had told him of his love in the human manner, perhaps an acknowledgment that while Vulcan discipline allowed this intimate tie between them, it was not sufficient to completely define it.

     They sat in gentle silence for a time, hands clasped tightly, and finally Jim bumped his shoulder against his bondmate’s. “You’re so used to taking care of me. I think it’s probably time for me to return the favor.” He stood, hopping back slightly to favor his leg, tugging on Spock’s hand. “Come on. We’re going back to the house and you’re going to eat something and then you’re going to sleep.” He chuckled softly. “I’m going to give this domestic stuff a try.”

     Spock looked up at him, and Jim could feel the sense of tired surrender and gentle humor wash over their bondspace as the Vulcan allowed the captain to pull him up. Jim released his bondmate’s hand to bend down and fold the blanket over one arm, but reached immediately back, clasping their hands decisively and keeping them together as they climbed the short distance back to the small house. They were heading for the kitchen when Spock stopped in the hallway. “I believe I will sleep, Jim.”

     Jim decided not to argue, dropping the blanket on the hall table and following his bondmate into the bedroom, refusing to allow their hands to part. As Spock reached for the zipper on his fleece, Jim batted his hand away and proceeded to gently undress the Vulcan with slow and deliberate movements, allowing all of the surety of his love and his sense of deep protectiveness drift along their bondspace, feeling his mate slowly relax, dark eyes losing their intensity, the sense of surrender deepening. As Spock finally stood in front of him, his clothes fallen to the floor, the soft, early afternoon light bathing his pale skin in golden colors, Jim stepped even closer and touched his mate’s shoulders, running his hands down his arms and back again before leaning forward and brushing their lips together, breathing in his Vulcan’s familiar scent. He felt a heavy, languid sensation spread within the bondspace and closed his eyes, submitting as he felt Spock’s hands tug at the hem of his own shirt. His mate’s thoughts were focused on a longing for their bodies together, for touch and deepening closeness.

     Moments later they were together under the blankets on the large bed, feeling the luxury of naked skin against naked skin, and Jim shifted so he was behind his mate, arms wrapped around him, breathing him in, fully relaxing for the first time since their mission to Kliperik, seemingly so long ago. As Jim felt his Vulcan slip into sleep, he gently stroked his side, trailing his fingers along his mate’s stomach and chest, moving up slowly to brush against his cheekbones and to caress a pointed ear before sliding his fingers through silky, black hair and back down to encircle his mate’s torso once more.

 

 

 

     He wasn’t aware of falling into sleep himself, lulled by the sensations drifting across their bond and the heat from his mate’s body, but awoke to night some time later, lying on his back, Spock’s head tucked into his neck and the Vulcan’s arm thrown possessively over Jim’s chest. His mate was still deeply asleep, and Jim lay quietly, watching the pattern of moonlight across the ceiling and breathing in fresh air laden with the scent of the sea. Absently, Jim drew his hands over Spock’s back, and smiled as he felt his Vulcan sigh gently against his skin.

     It felt almost strange, lying here with no danger of red alerts or imminent threats, with nothing but the feeling of their bodies together. Jim’s thoughts drifted, thinking of himself a year before. He thought of his insecurity, of his previous avoidance of attachment, of his fear of getting too close and his desperate need for control. And all for naught, it turned out, as his soul was already spoken for. His hands tightened involuntarily, protectively, and he felt Spock stir and shift against him. His mate’s mind was still quiet with sleep, but Jim could begin to feel the beginnings of awareness, and he probed along their connection, drifting along the brightening edges, cautiously exploring, sensing retreating exhaustion, the ache disappeared, the underlying turmoil eased. And, he felt the first breath of desire wash across the space connecting their minds, an awakening longing for deeper intimacy.

     Gently, Jim moved his bondmate onto his back and leaned over him, letting his lips slide along Spock’s neck and across his collarbone, sliding his own body down, kissing his way along his mate’s chest and stomach, finally slipping his mouth and hand over his mate’s hardening penis, gently nudging his legs further apart. Spock came drowsily back to full awareness, and Jim closed his eyes, concentrating on the pleasured sensations washing over their bondspace, feeling everything with that newly discerning clarity. He pushed forward his own desire, his reassurance that the loss of control during _pon farr_ had been a gift, and his awe of the half-Vulcan’s capacity to love. His own cock had hardened beneath him, and Jim sensed his mate’s hands forming fists in the sheets, looking up to see Spock’s face, pale in the moonlight, caught in an expression of open ecstasy, feeling his climax building. Jim shifted his grip and moved his mouth faster, reaching down to grasp his own erection tightly, staving off his own orgasm as Spock gasped and Jim swallowed around his Vulcan’s pulsing cock, the bondspace lighting up with pleasure.

     Jim gently released his mate’s organ and smiled, moving to offer soft kisses over Spock’s hipbones and stomach, lingering over his rapid heartbeat, sliding up the Vulcan’s body and capturing his mouth. The bondspace wrapped around their minds, warm and encompassing, balancing, as their bodies pressed together, cool against hot. Jim sighed into his mate’s mouth, enjoying the feeling of their tongues together, their lips pressing firm against each other, his mate’s hands stroking along his body, leaving trails of electric heat. He felt a thrill that they were alone, and would not be interrupted, that they had the entire night to touch, if they wanted, or meld, or simply sleep. He felt a surge of possessive excitement, his mind crying out an exultant _Mine!_ followed by a self-conscious retreat as he sensed his mate’s pleased amusement.

     The movement of their mouths grew more passionate and insistent, and Spock turned them abruptly, breaking the kiss and looking down at his human, his hands moving to grasp Jim’s wrists with just enough strength to further enflame his mate’s excitement. He pulled back even further, keeping their lower bodies pressed tightly together, the pressure on Jim’s straining cock deliciously unbearable. Jim grunted, and arched up, shifting his body in a vain attempt to reach his mate’s mouth again, the bondspace alive with desire and exhilarating anticipation.

     The Vulcan’s eyes were black in the darkness, and his voice was low, and held a hint of dangerous seduction. “What do you want, _t’hy’la_?” Jim could feel his mate’s hard, newly aroused body against his, the strength of alien hands, the powerful thrum of his thoughts. The human’s excitement surged, and he writhed underneath, his breathing now coming in pants. “You. I want you. Fuck.”

     “I wish to hear you say it.”

     Jim twisted, helpless. He could barely think over the cresting lust and the desperate excitement. “I want to fuck you. I want to feel myself in you.” He paused, and stilled, staring up into dark eyes, harnessing all his own sultry energy, changing his movements against his mate’s body to a gentle, rolling pressure. “I want to hear you say my name when you come.”

     Spock’s eyes grew impossibly darker, and the barest hint of a smile played about his lips. Jim’s wrists were released and the human groaned as the hot weight on top of him shifted and Spock raised himself to kneel astride Jim’s hips. There was a breathless pause, and then Jim felt his cock stroked with a slick substance. “Oh, shit. Don’t... .” He bit his lip, trying desperately not to come. “Let me... .” He gracelessly reached out and grasped into thick, silky hair, pulling Spock’s body down against his and capturing his mate’s mouth. With his other hand, he fumbled for the tube of lubricant and curled up into the kiss, seeking his mate’s entrance with a slicked finger. Distracted by the erotic feeling of their tongues moving together and their erections sliding past each other, he had only managed to scissor two fingers inside the tight passage when the Vulcan pulled back and, shifting his position carefully, sank onto the human’s straining hardness in a slow, decisive motion.

     “Oh fuck, oh fuck,” Jim moaned and threw his head back as Spock’s hips rocked, gently at first, and then more forcefully, and Jim’s hands traveled helplessly over his mate’s defined torso, moving to grip his hips and encircle his cock. The bondspace was undulating along with the motion of the Vulcan’s body, and sparks of bright pleasure burst in Jim’s mind. He was powerless to prevent his own hips from pressing up into his mate’s movements, powerless to prevent the erotic noises of need that fell from his lips. He managed to grasp one of Spock’s hands and sucked the Vulcan’s first two fingers into his mouth, eliciting a growl from his mate and a more demanding rhythm. Jim’s mind reached along the bondspace, burning a path into his mate’s thoughts, and Spock pulled his fingers free to press onto Jim’s meld points. Jim closed his eyes and their minds were entwined and growing impossibly closer still. A wave of pleasure built and surged, and Jim’s body shuddered with the approaching force of it. His thoughts whited out, and all he could feel was pleasure, and unconditional love, and sensuous heat, and as their climax cascaded through their bodies, their minds drifted once more into that revered place they had seen before, where they were together in every way, and they were in and of each other, truly one.

 

 

 

     Jim came back to himself, shaking in reaction, somehow lying half on top of his mate, his face pressed into his Vulcan’s warm neck, feeling the rapid pulse of an alien heartbeat, ignoring the stickiness along their bodies. A deeply satisfying sensation suffused the bondspace, tremors of lingering pleasure and echoes of deep soulful union, and he smirked.  _You never said my name._

     He felt rather than heard a gentle chuckle reverberate in his Vulcan’s chest, and brought his head up sharply, a grin lighting his face. “You laughed.”

     Spock blinked at him, his features impassive. “I did not.”

     Jim snorted. “Yeah, right.”

     There was a ripple of amusement over the bondspace, and Jim shook his head, his grin widening. “Laugh it up, Pointy.”

     An eyebrow rose haughtily. “I believe I would now classify you as being ‘a shit’, Jim.”

     Jim threw himself back onto the bed, rubbing his hands over his eyes, his own cathartic laughter echoing in the room. “I gotta hand it to you, babe. You’re a fucking superhero.”

     And he closed his eyes as his mate captured his hand and Jim’s mind reveled in the depths of Vulcan happiness.

 

 

 

     Jim slouched on the sofa in the front room of the house, flicking absently through his PADD, a half-drained beer in front of him on the table and the large screened windows open to admit the sea breeze, lazy in the lingering warmth of the late afternoon. A week of rest, meditation, and physical and mental intimacy had returned strength and color to both of them. Spock was sleeping and eating to Jim’s satisfaction, and all lingering discomfort from physical injuries and across their mental landscape had faded. Jim was enjoying the simple pleasures of his mate’s company and attention; on the ship, they had been under demanding duty requirements and constant scrutiny, their bond still under-wraps. Now, Jim was taking inordinate happiness in openly touching his mate as often as he wished.

     Jim heard a sound from the kitchen and smiled, laying the PADD down and grabbing his beer, wandering out of the front room to lean against the doorway to the kitchen. “You need some help?”

     “I do not.”

     Jim sensed some degree of reticence within his mate’s mind and walked over curiously. “You’re making pizza. I know how to do that.” He took a swallow from his bottle and plunked it on the counter, rubbing his hands.

     Spock’s eyebrow flew up and he tilted his head. “This is not pizza, Jim. It is a traditional Vulcan dish. Additionally, you shall find yourself otherwise immediately occupied.”

     Jim smirked. “Really? What do you have in... ?”

     The sound of a knock on the front door interrupted him and he furrowed his brow, stretching his mind along their bondspace and meeting flickers of fondness and anticipation. “Who’s that?”

     The sound of the door opening and an exaggerated Southern drawl answered his question, “Hey, kid! Y’all gonna invite me in or let me stand out there all night with the damn security detail?”

     Jim grinned. “In here, Bones.”

     McCoy appeared around the corner and met Jim’s smile, dropping a bag in the hallway and moving forward to give his friend an affectionate embrace. Pulling back, McCoy crossed his arms in front of him and glanced at Spock, who had turned to watch them. “Hope you don’t mind, Jim. I was supposed to check in anyway and make sure you’re both healing okay, but your bondmate insisted on making it a proper visit.” He smiled warmly at the Vulcan. “How’s it going, hobgoblin?”

     “It is well to see you, Leonard.”

     Jim shook his head fondly. “It’s great you’re here, Bones. Want a drink?”

     McCoy nodded. “Thought you’d never ask.” He peered between them. “Well, you both look much better. Of course, I hardly recognize you anymore outside of sickbay.” He took a beer from Jim and sipped it, his sarcastic tone softening. “How’re things?”

     Jim glanced at his bondmate. “We’re okay. It’s been good to get away from it all.”

     Bones nodded. “Security’s got you locked down pretty tight.” He snorted. “You two are still all over the media. Hear anything new from Fleet?”

     Jim shrugged. “Just what they’ve made me read. Sounds like repairs on the _Enterprise_ are proceeding on schedule. She’ll be ready to fly in two weeks.”

     Bones took another swallow. “Well, the latest is the Klingons are treading lightly. Apparently they’re more than a little impressed about that ship being defeated. Gone back to squabbling over mineral rights with the Romulans and avoiding our neutral zone and outer systems completely.”

     Jim nodded solemnly. “Good news.”

     “Yeah.” Bones slipped out of his light jacket and tossed it on top of his bag. “Maybe we’ll steer clear of war for a bit longer. And fucking mind-sifters.”

     Jim swallowed. Spock had placed his dish into the old-fashioned stove and programmed the settings and a sudden beep sounded in the lingering silence. Bones eyed the Vulcan speculatively. “He’s cooking?”

     Jim’s grin returned. “How do you feel about Vulcan pizza, Bones?”

     The doctor grunted skeptically and Jim laughed.

 

 

 

     Much later, Jim and Bones sat at the small dining room table, a half-full bottle of liquor in between them, Spock having retreated to their bedroom to meditate. Jim had his legs casually propped up on a chair and was lounging back in his seat, swirling his drink in his glass. McCoy was leaning forward, arms crossed on the table, his glass nearly drained. Jim took another sip of the liquor, feeling it burn down his throat, feeling the gentle calm of his mate’s mind along their connection, and smiled to himself. A delicate snort from his friend made him narrow his eyes playfully. “What?”

     The doctor reached to pour himself another glass. “You.” He shook his head. “More or less eighteen months ago I pulled you out of a hotel room in the wee hours of the morning and abused my medical authority calling in an emergency transport to save you from some waitress’ angry brother. Now, you’re involved, you’re settled. You’re happy.” He smiled. “It’s good to see, kid.”

     Jim lowered his eyes, shifting his grip on his glass. “With my history, I could’ve easily fucked this up, Bones. I kind of did, for a while. And then with all the shit that’s happened since.” He chuckled darkly. “I mean, what, did you just have one of those isolation rooms set aside waiting for us?”

     McCoy’s smile faded. “That’s closer to the truth than I’d like to admit. You two aren’t easy on the people who care about you.” He took a sip and swallowed. “As a doctor, you have to go in objectively. You have to assess the problem and fix it: no bullshit, no sentimentality. And it’s been hard to do that with you.” He exhaled sharply. “And with Spock.”

     Jim watched him and Bones frowned. “You remember how I was afraid, in the beginning, that this link with him was going to damage you somehow? And then I was afraid that you would be trapped in an emotional desert.” He crossed his legs, taking another sip of his drink. “Of course, then I saw first-hand what he feels for you and... .” He sniffed. “Well, you tried to warn me.”

     Jim smiled softly and McCoy continued, staring self-consciously into his glass. “I know what you mean to each other. And what you both mean to me. And even though I understand your bond better, even though I resolved those other fears, I still can’t help being afraid that it’ll mean both of your lives eventually.” He raised his eyes. “And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to banish that particular fear, Jim. Not in our line of work. Not with what we just went through.”

     Jim nodded slowly, meeting his friend’s eyes. “I’d be a liar if I said I’m not somewhat afraid myself.” He scratched the side of his face. “’Fear is necessary for command’. Remember that?”

     Bones grunted. “How could I forget?”

     “Yeah. Well, it may be necessary, but it can’t be defining. In the last year we’ve lived through more than one situation that could have been considered a no-win scenario. And each time there was an element of fear, an awareness of loss, that galvanized us into pulling some crazy solution out of mid-air. Fear serves the same purpose, in my field, and in yours. It gives us perspective, but it has to be pushed aside when duty calls.”

     Jim swirled his drink again. “This connection with Spock; it’s saved my life, and his, but it’s not completely known. Shit, even we don’t know what that additional synaptic development really means yet, or if it’ll continue. And the Vulcans don’t have much of a clue either, if T’Lerit’s persistence is anything to go from. So, fear is,” he cleared his throat, “logical, I guess.”

     Bones grunted. “That’s a loaded word.”

     “Yeah.” Jim took a breath and sipped his liquor. “But despite the unknown, and the fear, I can’t forget everything else.” He smirked suddenly. “And this is where I start to sound like a sentimental nutjob again, but it is like it was meant to be. And I know that Sarek said that duty was the fundamental tenet of a Vulcan bond, but I’m pretty sure that, for a _t’hy’la_ bond, the basis, if you will, is love.” His smirk faded. “Siforit told me that. And if it’s love that defines us, I’m not sure how much room is left for fear.”

     McCoy’s eyes softened, and he chuckled. “You tell that to Sarek?”

     Jim grinned. “Sort of.” He shook his head. “Maybe it sunk in. He’s actually started to pursue a relationship with his son, after what happened on Karik’s ship. Spock’s talked to him a few times since we’ve been here, and I can tell things have changed for the better.”

     McCoy leaned back in his seat and drained his glass, making a face as he swallowed. “Jim Kirk, relationship counselor. A brave new world, indeed. Glory, Hallelujah.”

     Jim shifted in his chair, moving his feet to the floor and leaning forward to grip his friend’s shoulder. “Thanks for always being there, Bones; for being our friend, and my conscience.” His eyes crinkled in a wry smile. “You know I love you, too.”

     The doctor’s eyebrows shot up precipitously. “To think this is all due to a damn Vulcan. I’m never letting him live this down.”

     Jim’s smile widened, matched by his friend’s.

 

 

 

     Dawn was breaking by the time Jim crawled into bed, feeling the sharp contrast between cool sheets and Vulcan heat against his naked body. Spock was sleeping on his side, and the captain curled around his back, nuzzling into dark hair and wrapping his arm around his mate’s waist. The bondspace was calm, and warm, and endlessly comforting, and as Jim concentrated he could feel the underlying pulse of love between them, glowing and guiding their minds together. He thought back to his conversation with Bones, and his own reflections earlier, about who he had been, and who he was, now. He wondered how he would be different, had the mind-sifter ordeal never happened; if he ever would have allowed his friend to reach him through denial, and uncertainty, and fear. Jim had never been one to believe blindly in destiny, but he was a true advocate of hope. And he believed that he and Spock would have found their way, eventually. As he slowly slipped into sleep, listening to his mate’s gentle breathing and feeling the bondspace expand and embrace their minds, he considered that a ‘defining’ friendship was the most brilliant understatement he’d ever heard.

 

 


	20. The Continuing Voyages

Epilogue: The Continuing Voyages

 

 

     The shuttlecraft flew tantalizingly close to the forest canopy, skimming through the low-hanging clouds in the thick, moisture-rich atmosphere of an alien world. Jim increased his airspeed, his senses alight, anticipating what he knew was there, and in a flash the forest abruptly dropped away from beneath him to plunge into a deep valley, a mist-enshrouded waterfall marking the transition below. The captain couldn’t help a grin, and turned to glance at Nyota, seated in the co-pilot’s seat, shaking her head amusedly.

     “Now I know why you wanted to be the one to pick us up.”

     Her voice was barely a murmur, but there was a low chuckle from the science and linguistics team members seated in the shuttle behind them, and Jim’s grin widened as he adjusted the controls, bringing the shuttle into a steady climb up through the dusky blue sky, so much like Earth’s.

     Nyota checked her boards and nodded to him and he flipped a switch. “This is shuttle _Kepler_ calling _Enterprise_ , passing ten thousand meters and on approach. Landing party present and accounted for.”

     The last buzz of static cleared the line, a remnant of the lingering interference with long-range communication and transporters by the planet’s unique atmospheric chemistry, and Jim heard Spock’s voice come clearly over the channel, “ _Enterprise_ to _Kepler_ , approach trajectory confirmed and shuttlebay is standing by.” There was a pause. “Welcome home.”

     Nyota smiled and winked at Jim, who leaned back in his seat, watching the last wisps of atmosphere glide past the front screens, leaving the brilliant curve of the planet in stark contrast to the black expanse of space. Above and in front of them was the sleek shape of their ship, silvery-white and glowing in reflected light, nacelles proudly upswept and running lights gleaming. Jim’s breath caught, he couldn’t help it, and he sensed his mate’s gentle amusement and affection across their warm bondspace.

_What? She’s beautiful. Scotty understands._

_Indeed, ashayam. As do I._

_Oh, yeah?_ Jim reached out across the bondspace, sensing fulfillment, and a deep feeling of home, of belonging. Of a family chosen, and a path made clear. He mentally caressed his mate.  _Me, too, t’hy’la. Me, too._

 

 

     “Captain on the bridge!”

     Jim stepped from the turbolift and surveyed his crew, the bright lights glimmering off of shiny consoles, the familiar ambient hum rising in the background. The viewscreen showed the slowly rotating planet, blue and green and white beneath them, and beyond, the touch of stars.

     Jim stepped down to the command chair as Spock rose smoothly, moving to stand next to his bondmate. “All stations report ready for warp, Captain.”

     “Thank you, Mr. Spock.” Jim crossed his arms over his chest, throwing a smile at his first officer. “You think the Federation will approve first-contact status?”

     The Vulcan clasped his hands behind his back and tilted his head. “My recommendation will be to do so, sir. There is evidence for technological advancement at or near the development of warp drive dating from before the _Eren’gha_ war, as well as extra-planetary artifacts and materials. The inhabitants have already experienced ‘contamination’, if you will. The natural course of their planet’s development has been altered.”

     Jim nodded. “Well, maybe we’ll be back this way in a year or so; have a chance to say ‘hello’.”

     Spock inclined his head. “Perhaps, sir.”

     Jim looked forward to the helm, where Sulu had turned, an expectant look on his face. “Let’s take her out, Mr. Sulu. Warp factor one.”

     Sulu exchanged a grin with Chekov and faced his board. “Aye, Captain. Warp factor one.”

     “Steady as she goes.” Jim remained standing in front of the command chair, feeling the smooth vibration from the powering engines through the deck, sensing a flicker of anticipation radiate within the bondspace, and cherishing the steady presence of his _t’hy’la_ at his side. Once more into the unknown. Together.

 

 

THE END

 

 

Chapter End Notes:

 

 

And so ends the trilogy! Thank you so much for reading, and for your comments. I have so enjoyed writing these stories.

 

 

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek, and I do not make any money from this.

 

 


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